


(i'm sorry but) i'm just thinking of the right words to say

by interstellar_silence



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Roommates, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Zuko (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellar_silence/pseuds/interstellar_silence
Summary: Zuko is the last person Sokka expects to end up as his roommate when he starts college. Sokka is the last person Zuko expects to befriend when he starts his whole life over. And no one who knows a thing about their shared past expects them to end up together.Except, maybe, Toph.
Relationships: Bato/Hakoda (Avatar), Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 220





	1. Year 1 - Fall Sem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: referenced physical abuse, referenced potentially lethal violence, physical injury, weight loss associated with implied eating disorder, mentions of alcohol consumption

Sokka liked a good schedule. He liked being on time and he loved when a plan went off without a hitch. So, he was kind of riding a high. 

The flight up had left on time and landed ten minutes early, all his bags came through on the pickup belt without damage, and the light rail from the airport to the town center had a connection that would take him right to the steps of his new university. Sokka had spent a good couple hours going over the route the night before, and memorized alternatives in case a line was closed or he lost his ticket or his phone died. He had lived in the same small town all his life, but he was extremely familiar with its neighboring city. That being said, even though that city was much bigger than this one, it didn’t mean getting lost in this one was impossible. Sokka liked being prepared, and he loved when it paid off. 

His schedule got him to campus just as registration was opening, so he received his welcome packet and his fresh ID without having to wait in line, which got him to his dorm before his roommate possibly could, which meant he got to choose his bed first. 

Sokka wrestled his bags into the common area of the suite-style housing without help, because he had come to this new city alone and he had managed to beat all seven of his suitemates to the dorm. He gave the common area a quick glance over, spotting the bathroom and the kitchenette area with its microwave and small fridge, before waddling into his assigned room. Sokka let out a sigh of relief as he let his two duffle bags hit the floor, followed quickly by his backpack. He let his spine decompress a bit before turning his attention to the configuration of the room. 

It was fairly narrow but deep, with walls painted a soft mint and furniture in a set up that was mirrored on both sides of the room. It was packed tight, so this configuration of furniture was probably the only one that could work. The far wall was mostly windows, and meeting at the midline were both the room’s dressers. The tops of the dressers came to right below the window sill and formed a continuous surface with each other. 

Sokka hoped that his roommate wouldn’t mind their dressers touching, seeing as how there was only a couple feet between the dressers and the heads of the beds. The beds were pushed into their respective room corners. The frames were of that sturdy, adjustable make and both beds were set up so that the side bars were placed in the highest slots of the head and foot boards. This meant that the mattress was positioned as high as possible. Sokka was glad to see that he wouldn’t have to adjust the frame to his preference, it looked like it would be hard to do alone.

Flush to the feet of the beds were the sides of the desks, which were facing the walls. A few feet from the other sides of the desks were the doors to their tiny closets. Sokka was willing to bet that if he were to open the door to the closet it would clear the desk by two inches, maximum. 

With the room door open, he couldn’t access the closet door for the left side of the room. 

That could be a pain in the ass, he thought. But, he looked at the shadow the door cast, and figured that if he was asleep and the light was on in the common area, maybe being on the left side would mean he had a smaller chance of being woken up if the door was opened in the middle of the night. Each side of the room was practically identical, otherwise, and Sokka kicked his duffels over so that they were halfway under the bed on the left. He threw his backpack on top of the mattress to make his choice clear. Sokka briefly entertained the idea of unpacking some of his clothes and putting it into the left dresser, to make his claim extra clear, but he didn’t really have time for that. 

He wanted to get his room shopping done before the stores were clogged up with other new students and their families. Besides, he had shared cramped rooms with Katara his whole life. He knew how to argue claims to territory.

Sokka set out to a discount department store across the city that he had found in his searches online. The trolley ride was direct and long enough that he had some time to take in the views. 

It was a cute city, the way the old masonry and clay roof tiles struck stubborn lines through the glass and steel contemporary architecture. It was huge too, different from the fishing town Sokka had grown up in, had to commute a half hour to highschool in the local city from. As the trolley approached the neighborhood that housed the department store, the buildings shrank and grew closer together. These crumbling facades, painted nonetheless cheerfully, reminded him a little more of home. 

The store itself was special in that it they had weekly specials on top of their regular low prices. 

Despite conflicts about Sokka’s tendency to over schedule, or his tendency to shirk household chores, Sokka and Katara had always been strongest together while bargain hunting. They had spent uncountable lazy afternoons together at the kitchen table, searching deals online and clipping coupons out of the newspaper. 

Sokka gave a silent shout out to Katara as he hunted down the items on his list with single minded focus. A focus so deep, that he didn’t notice that he’d bumped into another customer, or that she took a double take of him. 

“So,” she began from behind Sokka, and he _jumped_ . “You’re some sort of master bargain hunter? No time for manners?” He whirled around, ready to defend his focus because these binders were _outrageously_ cheap given the quality, but the words died on his tongue. He flapped his mouth a bit before managing to shout:

“Suki!” 

She gave Sokka a devilish grin and a tight hug around the waist. He clutched back tight enough that the list crumpled between his fist and her back. 

“I thought you were taking a gap year,” Sokka said once he pulled back to look Suki over. Her cheeks were lightly flushed and her mouth was still pulled into a wide smile. He hadn’t seen Suki since her time as an exchange student had come to an end, but she didn’t look too different from the highschool sophomore she had been. Now Suki was a little taller, her bob a little shorter, the glint in her eye a little sharper. 

They’d kept in touch, exchanging emails every few months with updates on their lives. It wasn’t anywhere near enough, he’d missed her so badly.

“I was, but some plans fell through,” Suki gave a shrug but her smile grew tighter at this admission. “I figured I could always take a break if I need to, or do a semester abroad.

“Besides, I was looking forward to seeing you again.” 

Sokka blushed deeply. 

“Well,” Sokka ignored his own voice crack, “I’ve got some discounts to capitalise on, but if you’re not busy after, we could get food? Catch up a bit?” 

Suki sidled up next to him, hummed consideringly, and plucked a value-sized box of highlighters off the shelf.

“There’s a donburi restaurant a couple blocks from campus.” She cut her eyes to him and cracked another grin. “And they do buy one get one half-off entrees.” 

Sokka gave her a grin to match. 

The shopping was quick enough-- considering just how much he purchased--, as was dropping off his bundles of shopping bags. Dinner, however, was wonderfully long. 

They got back to campus late enough that Sokka hadn’t had time to drop off his leftovers in his room before the first orientation event. He had to sit the greasy plastic bag in his lap as the Dean of Students, the Dean of Faculty, the Residency Director, some number of other faceless administrators, and the president of the school gave nearly identical speeches to welcome the new students. Sokka was breathtakingly bored and wished that Suki was at least near his section. Unfortunately, being seated by dorm meant that he couldn’t even see her from where he was sitting. 

Sokka wanted to zone out, but was too keyed up from the events of the past few hours. Their early dinner was mostly a thorough catch up that started with four different appetizers and ended with a kiss as they’d got back to campus. He and Suki had fallen back easily into the playful dynamic they had had years ago. And, they were both mature enough to act on their mutual interest without the back and forth that had taken up most of the year they had been peers previously. They had another date planned for the first weekend after classes started. Sokka was already thinking up activities they could get up to. 

The speeches droned on and Sokka slouched low in his set, tapping his heel. A smile sat snuggly on his face. Excepting the stiff formality of the academic world, the year was shaping up wonderfully. 

\---

Zuko, having decided that he couldn’t keep buying bus tickets if he wanted to be able to afford anything before he could find a job, didn’t manage to hitch a ride into the city until a good few hours later than he had been hoping. Fortunately, though, the driver let him off within a few blocks of the university. He’d just been expecting to get within the city limits. 

Maybe his luck was turning, Zuko thought, his duffel and backpack digging into his shoulders as he made his way to the registration area, just as they were beginning to pack up. They weren’t happy to see him, late as he was, and the awkward smile Zuko gave was met by an unimpressed frown as the person would turn out to be his RA slapped a welcome packet into his hands. 

“The first orientation event is in a half hour,” she said, not doing a very good job at holding back her annoyance. Zuko nodded, already knowing he was going to skip it. He had to go out to buy sheets, at the very least, and he wouldn’t mind some toiletries that weren’t snagged from a motel bathroom.

Zuko leafed through the materials in his welcome packet as he walked, looking over the schedule of Orientation Week events before deciding he wouldn’t be going to any of them. He could figure out his way around campus with a map-- so the somehow multiple tours were pointless--, he didn’t care about meeting with faculty at the department mixers, and even though the presentation on the Honor Code seemed interesting, he could just read the policy himself. The rest of the events were for new students to get to know each other and Zuko didn’t need to make _friends_ , he needed to find a _job_. 

He stuffed the orientation events list back into the folder and pulled out his student ID.

Zuko had submitted his photo online a couple months before, and they had printed his card using that. In this photo he still had his short ponytail, which looked less terrible than he remembered it. He couldn’t help but rub his hand over his freshly buzzed hair as he unlocked the front door of the dorm with his card. Maybe he could grow it back out. 

His assigned room was only a couple floors up so Zuko took the stairs, hoping to avoid being trapped in the elevator with other new students and their loud families. He hadn’t thought, however, about his timing in entering the building. Zuko walked against the tide of students leaving to go to the matriculation ceremony he was skipping and very carefully ignored the way their conversations quieted as they noticed the scar across his face and started back up as he passed. 

He was pleasantly surprised to find the suite empty of people when he got the door open, though it was clear from the possessions and mess occupying the common area and rooms that Zuko was the last to arrive. Whoever Zuko’s roommate was had already chosen a side of the room and done a lot of shopping. He had to step over a few bags to get to some clear floor to deposit his own. The bed frame was set pretty high up, he noticed with a frown, a problem for after he got sheets for it. Zuko took a seat on his dresser as he wasn’t in the mood to climb on top of the bed just for a quick rest. 

He needed to go out and get those sheets. He needed to buy soap and the rest of his toiletries and-- now that he thought about it-- laundry detergent. 

He needed a shower and he needed a job and he needed to see a whole list of doctors and he needed the headache cropping up at his temples to _cut it out_ , which it wouldn’t until he got some sleep. So, dropping to his feet, Zuko decided to get at least his bed set up as quickly as possible. If he could manage it with some amount of speed then maybe he’d be able to be asleep by the time his roommate got back, and they could put off what would inevitably be an awkward introduction for another few hours at least. 

Maybe it was the full body ache souring his mood, but any excitement Zuko had had for the prospect of a fresh start had died with the reality. He was in a new city with no one to care about where he was, no home to go back to, a bank account uncomfortably close to single digits, and a collection of bruises that throbbed along to his heart beat as he made his way through the empty dorm halls. At least as he took the elevator down to street level, there was no one to stare at him. 

\---

Sokka chose to come back to the dorm instead of going out for ice cream with the rest of his suitemates. He wanted to get his leftovers into the fridge, finally, and he figured that eating out once for the day was already enough. Sokka wasn’t strapped for cash but he sure as shit wasn’t rolling in it either. He thought vaguely about what kind of parttime gig he could pick up for spending money. His wages from his summer job would pay all his serious expenses for the year, and would be bolstered by the shifts he’d pick up during winter break, but it would be nice to have some money for goofing off. 

When he got back to his suite, Sokka was surprised to find the door unlocked. He had been beginning to suspect that his roommate wasn’t going to show, but the noise and light coming from his open door suggested otherwise. Sokka stepped quietly through the common area, if only to get a look at his roommate before it turned into meeting them. 

He was kneeling on the floor, fiddling with and cursing his bed frame. His legs were pale, practically hairless, defined by both muscle and lack of body fat. Judging by the wiry legs and the look of his lower back where his shorts were riding low and his sweatshirt was rucked up high, this guy was _thin_. 

And the sweatshirt was weird because there’s no way the guy wasn’t hot in the late summer heat, even with the windows letting in the early night air. The colors were a vaguely familiar combination, mostly burgundy with gold at the cuffs and hem. There was a school in Sokka’s city with those colors, but he couldn’t remember which one. 

The guy was trying to get the side rail to latch into the headboard, but the balance kept shifting. Sokka figured it was as good a time to break the silence if any, especially if he could offer his roommate some help. Also, he had maybe been watching him a creepy amount of time. 

Sokka cleared his throat. His roommate didn't react in the slightest. The guy gave the bed frame a terse shake before trying to latch the side rail again. 

Sokka frowned, wondering if his roommate was really so fixated on the bed frame or if Sokka had already done something to piss the guy off. He opted for a louder volume. 

“Do you--” Sokka began loudly before he was interrupted by the sound of the side rail clattering to the floor as his roommate whipped around. When Sokka saw his face all he could do was let out an embarrassingly long “uh?” into the otherwise now silent room. 

Zuko’s face had started out mostly somewhere between surprise and fear and had been very pale, like he wasn’t expecting there to be, at some point, another person in this very clearly habitated suite. But as Sokka’s “uh?” stretched on, his face went from looking like he was expecting an ass kicking to just exceptionally embarrassed. And Sokka thought that was a little strange, because he couldn’t really remember anything about his last encounter with Zuko and he felt like he _would_ have if it warranted such a red face to seeing him again. 

Sokka let the “uh?” trail off. Now he had to come up with actual words to say, _great_. He opted for the ones he had intended in the first place. 

“D’you want a hand?” Sokka asked in an appropriate indoor voice, stepping into the room to set his leftovers on his desk, fridge forgotten in the common room. He had to step around more than a few of his own bags and felt a little bad for making Zuko navigate the mess.

 _Zuko_. Zuko who he hadn’t seen in two years, Zuko who had left school on a two week detention and just never came back. Zuko with whom he had sat in the principal's office a number of times, awaiting a lecture for fighting on school grounds. 

Zuko who looked vaguely nauseous but nodded hesitantly, nonetheless. 

His blush faded and his eyes tracked Sokka as he made his way to the footboard of the bed and grabbed a hold of the side rail. Zuko turned his attention back to the bed frame and they slotted the side rail into the lowest notches. They repeated it with the other, placed the bed slats, and then wrestled the mattress on top. It wasn’t exactly hard but it did make Sokka grateful that he preferred the tallest setting. 

He threw Zuko a smile after they finished, breathing a little harder than before they’d started. Zuko didn’t return it, didn’t even look Sokka in the face. 

“Thanks,” he said simply, and turned to his shopping bags to pull out his sheets. Sokka, taking the hint, decided to do the same. 

It was awkward, to say the least. Without even looking at him, Sokka could feel the tension radiating off Zuko. And he was sneaking looks every so often, but wasn’t rewarded with much beyond seeing Zuko’s rigid shoulders and jerky movements as he worked through his meager shopping and belongings. The clothes Zuko had in his small duffel only filled up half his dresser, and then the duffel was tossed into his otherwise empty closet. From his backpack he pulled a laptop (a pretty fancy one, actually) and a folder stuffed with papers. The folder was dropped into a desk drawer and the laptop remained on the desk, to be joined by some unframed photos that Sokka was too far to make out, some pens, notebooks, and a couple chargers. That pretty much exhausted the backpack. Zuko began the short work of emptying his shopping bags, which were mostly filled with toiletries and a few packs of socks and underwear. 

By the time he was finished unpacking and his bed was made, Sokka had only finished emptying his first duffel. 

Sokka took a pause to fuck around on his phone a bit, responding to messages mostly and scrolling through his Twitter feed. At the same time, Zuko bundled up his shopping bags and the little trash he had generated in opening packaging and threw them out. 

He hovered at the edge of Sokka's vision for a moment before speaking in what sounded like a forced tone. 

"Do you need a hand with anything?" 

Sokka looked up to see that Zuko was actually looking him in the eye. His face was gaunt, betraying more of the extent of his surprising skinniness, and he had a wary look on his face despite being the one who initiated the conversation. 

Well, it would be a conversation once Sokka responded instead of staring at Zuko like a weirdo. He'd started fidgeting in the stretch of silence before Sokka managed to gather his thoughts. 

"Nah," he began slowly, and Zuko looked almost disappointed, "but I just realized you probably missed out on the dining hall." He turned to his desk to snag the leftovers in one hand and turned back to Zuko. "It's definitely cold but it's all yours if you want," Sokka finished with what he hoped was a chill, friendly smile. 

Zuko continued to look shifty and flicked his gaze between Sokka and the bag swaying gently from his hand like there was a trick to suss out. 

Sokka held no ill will toward Zuko, even if they had exchanged a good few punches in their time. And he didn't want to pity Zuko but he also couldn't ignore how the guy looked like he'd been put through more than one ringer. Zuko's gaze settled on Sokka's face for a few seconds, and whatever he saw there made up his mind. 

"Sure," he muttered, reaching out slowly to take the bag from Sokka. Their fingers brushed at the exchange and Zuko pulled the bag toward himself just as slow, as though he were expecting Sokka to change his mind. When he didn’t, Zuko held the bag almost protectively. Sokka thought, abstractly, of those videos of otters clutching clams to their chests as they float around. Zuko's resting frown quirked in an odd way. 

"Thank you," he said before setting himself cross legged on the floor and digging into the bag. Sokka decided it would be far too weird if he watched Zuko eat so he returned his attention to his next duffel. He resisted the urge to sigh before dragging the bag over to the closet with a bundle of hangers in hand. 

\---

Three days into being roommates with Zuko, Sokka didn’t have any complaints. Or rather, he didn’t before this night, because Zuko was muttering and turning loudly in his sleep and it woke Sokka up. Everytime he started drifting back off, Zuko made another noise. After some immeasurable, dozy amount of time, Sokka woke up enough to turn over and maybe snap at him to get him to lay still. But, when he laid eyes on him, Sokka stopped cold. Zuko had settled, it seemed, for one.

And, well, that was a lot of bruises. Zuko couldn’t pretend to tolerate a sweatshirt while he slept, and his thrashing had exposed his arms. They were mostly yellowing and fading but some were still impressively dark. The light coming in from the streetlamps could only show so much, and it’s not like bruises usually have clear edges, but he thought some looked like they could be handprints. Most were amorphous, and overlapping in places and wrapping around his arms. Others still were such a clear shape that they could only be object-made, something long and rigid, like a table edge? A switch? Something awful was scratching at the back of Sokka’s skull, a mass of questions he didn’t want the answer to. 

Zuko gave one more flop, so suddenly that Sokka was afraid he had somehow realized he was being watched and woken up. This last movement had turned him over entirely, his face angled away from Sokka. This position drew his neck out long, pale skin sharp against the darkness of his sheets except for where it was ringed by dark bruises. His chest rose and fell gently. 

All these bruises explained the constant hoodies, Sokka thought. He was acutely nauseated. 

Zuko really had settled this time, and began snoring lightly. He didn’t look peaceful. Sokka supposed it would make sense that Zuko was the type to tense his jaw in his sleep. It also made sense that he jumped at every loud noise, every sudden movement near his face. 

As far as Sokka knew, after Zuko left their highschool he started going to the fancy private school his sister went to. He had presumably moved back in with his father, after years of living with his uncle. This is where his knowledge stopped. 

Suddenly, Sokka thought about that first fight he had gotten into with Zuko back in high school, when Aang had said something to him and Zuko just started _yelling_ and Sokka had tried to calm him down, and they went from yelling to shoving to blows. A week afterwards Sokka asked Aang what he had said that set Zuko off and Aang gave him a sad look. 

_I just asked if he thought we could be friends_ , he’d said. And Sokka had shrugged it off because _what kind of weirdo gets in a fight about a question like that_? 

Now, his thoughts echoed Aang’s question, overlaid with the few moments they had spent together so far: Zuko reluctantly accepting Sokka’s help and his food; Zuko managing to rise at dawn and get through his morning routine everyday so far without waking Sokka; Zuko very shyly asking Sokka if he wanted to go with him to the dining hall. 

He wouldn’t ask Zuko the question, didn’t care for a repeat of the fist fight now that they’re roommates (and now that Zuko is both shorter and much, much skinnier than Sokka, and how did _that_ happen? He had been an absurdly shredded sixteen year old). 

Sokka decided that even if he couldn’t ask, he could still figure out an answer. 

\---

“And how’s the roommate?” Hakoda asked an hour into their call. He had yet to adapt to video chatting, and while Sokka enjoyed making fun of his Dad Angles, he’d rather just have a voice call and do something mindless with his hands than attempt to focus on a conversation while the camera was trained on his dad’s eyebrows. 

Sokka hummed briefly in thought as he doodled his dad in the margin of his statistics problem set. He was really getting the shape of the goatee, he thought. 

“Yeah he’s pretty good, I guess,” Sokka replied. “He isn’t really around much.”

“What’d you say his name was?” his dad asked, clearly also doing something on his own end. Among the light static was the sound of drawers opening and closing. 

Sokka blinked, because it abruptly occurred to him that he hadn’t.

“Uh,” Sokka scratched at the back of his head with his pen, not thinking about the ink he was scrawling onto his scalp. “You remember Zuko? From high school?”

Hakoda paused for a second.

“The reason I had to keep leaving work to pick you and Katara up from the principal’s office? How could I forget?” Hakoda said with huffed laughter. Sokka returned the laugh weakly.

“Well, yeah. It’s Zuko.” 

Hakoda was silent for a long moment.

“Do you mean his name is Zuko, like that kid, or that your roommate _is_ Zuko?” 

“Well, technically both, I guess.” Sokka didn’t have a specific reason to be so nervous about this. Maybe it was that he didn’t want to explain to anyone why he had no issue rooming with someone who had punched him in the face multiple times. 

Hakoda let out a sigh. 

“Sounds like a major problem.”

“Well,” Sokka began before trailing off, because that was the thing. This probably _should_ have been a major problem. Forgetting the fact that Zuko was hardly around enough to _be_ a problem, the time he had spent in the room with Sokka had-- despite the ambient awkwardity-- been completely pleasant. It was so normal that Sokka could almost forget that Zuko had once headbutted him. 

Maybe it was the reveal of Zuko’s bruised neck the night prior, but he couldn’t conjure an ounce of the concern for his own safety that he-- in theory-- should have been able to. 

“Sokka?” Hakoda asked, concerned about the silence Sokka hadn’t realized he’d sunk into. “Do you need to switch rooms? I can reach out to the housing office for you.” 

Sokka’s dad never hesitated to step up and support his kids. It was nice, to be reassured that when he needed help it was always there to the best of his father’s ability. And it almost made Sokka forget the years when his dad hadn’t been there at all, and all the time it took to build that trust back up. Almost. 

Sokka resisted the urge to groan in embarrassment. 

“Dad, no it’s fine. He’s--” Sokka cut himself off, only for a second. 

He realized he hadn’t marinated enough on Zuko’s change in demeanor, the clear indications that something horrible had happened to him just days ago, the part time jobs he was picking up quicker than Sokka could keep track of. He had an knee jerk urge to defend Zuko as a roommate and it didn’t make enough sense to him yet.

“He’s mellowed out, and he’s barely even around anyway.” Sokka continued, tracing the geometric doodles he’d done when the conversation first started, to avoid looking at Doodle Dad’s eyes. “I don’t think it’s gonna be a problem at all.” He believed that, too. Sokka hoped his dad wouldn’t press the issue, that he wouldn’t have to reveal his thought process before he could sort it all out. 

His dad gave some noncommittal noise of acceptance before asking after the rest of Sokka's suitemates and the conversation went on for a half hour until Sokka had to break it off to make it to his physics class on time. 

Katara didn’t take it as well. 

She managed to video call Sokka on one of the very few occasions that he and Zuko were in the room at the same time, studying. 

Katara looked exactly the same as she had, two weeks ago, when they last saw each other in person. She had the same hair loopies, the same tiny gap between her front incisors, the same keen look in her eyes. 

“How’s living with the biggest asshole on the planet?,” is how Katara greeted Sokka. 

He hung up the phone immediately. 

Sokka swung his head around to see Zuko’s reaction, but his roommate was still dutifully tapping away at a lab report on his laptop. Zuko didn’t have much in the way of a poker face, as far as Sokka knew, so Sokka had to assume that he had miraculously not heard. 

Katara started calling again just as he began to relax, so Sokka clambered out of the book nest his bed had become and snatched his headphones off of his desk on his way out to the common room. 

Sokka threw himself onto the couch, thanking the spirits that the common room was empty, and swiped the call open.

“Hello dear sister,” Sokka deadpanned. Katara rolled her eyes. 

“I can’t believe you’re living with _Zuko_ , ugh! Is he still the absolute worst?

“And how did he even _get_ into your school? All those fights on your record almost kept _you_ from getting in, and you didn’t even _start_ them.” Sokka could tell that Katara was going to work herself up into a full-blown rant, so he tried to cut it off. 

In unintentionally the worst way possible. 

“Katara, he’s not that bad. He’s actually really chill now.” Sokka winced as he watched Katara’s nostrils flare. 

“Oh, great to see that you’re a Zuko-apologist now. Where was this ‘chill’ when he was throwing punches everytime any of us tried to even _talk_ to him? Or that time with Suki and the kendo team? Or when he helped his sister when she attacked Aang? But, oh yeah, I’m glad he’s nice to your face. I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun calling you slurs behind your back.” 

“He never called any of us a _slur_ ,” Sokka shot back. He kept going when Katara opened her mouth to retort. “‘Trailer trash’ isn’t a slur. Yeah, it was fucked up--” He spoke quicker to blow past another attempted response, “--and yes, very classist, I'm not arguing against that. _But_ he’s different now Katara, seriously. Also, you kicked his ass literally _so_ hard for that, I don’t know if you can still be that mad about it.” 

She pouted. Sokka didn’t want to do this, to have to present a fully articulated argument as to why he should keep Zuko as a roommate and not just make him move out or whatever. 

He threw on a pout of his own. 

“ _Katara_ ,” he said in a voice that he hoped conveyed the pleading exasperation he was going for. 

Katara hesitated on whatever direction her tirade had been headed and visibly decided to give it up.

“Thank you,” Sokka said, not letting her compromise slip past unnoticed. His sister rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever. Kick his ass if you need to.” Sokka pumped a fist mentally, at the victory. Katara continued. 

“What are your classes like so far?”

And Sokka began explaining precisely how evil his calculus professor was. 

\---

It spoke a lot to the university’s work culture that the library was still at about 20% capacity at 4 in the morning. It also spoke a lot to Sokka’s generally immaculate scheduling that he had never ended up there to see it at that time, before now. Haru was a different story, though that seemed to be less an issue of time management and more that no matter when the guy slept, he was an unstoppable machine of both focus and cheer. 

Here he was, for example, humming his way through complex calculations and dutifully ignoring the kid one table away who was glaring a hole into the back of his head at the noise. 

Sokka and Haru had a surprising amount in common. They lived in the same suite, they were in the same physics lecture and lab, and both their dads had been to prison. A lot of their bonding tended to happen as they did homework.

“I’m gonna head back to the dorm. You coming?” Sokka announced as he began packing his bag. The readings for his philosophy class had been reasonable up to this point, but this particular theorist’s writings were so dense that Sokka hadn’t been able to get into it during any of his earlier, shorter chunks of free time. 

“You go ahead, I still have the physics problem set to get through. Besides, I don’t have class ‘til 2 tomorrow and I wanna say hi to Zuko.”

“What? Why would Zuko be here?” Haru gave Sokka a funny look. 

“Because he works here?” The surprise must have been plain on Sokka’s face, because Haru’s voice took on a playfully critical edge. “You don’t notice that your roommate isn’t there when you wake up most days? Dude he has a six a.m. shift here, like, three days a week. Are you kidding?”

He knew that Haru was ribbing him, but Sokka felt a little defensive. He may have pouted a bit as he muttered:

“S’not like he tells me anything.” Haru quirked an eyebrow. 

“Do you like, ask?” 

Sokka let out a groan and slumped dramatically in his chair, the motion dragged at his shirt and left his back exposed to the seat of his desk chair. He fidgeted at the itch of the fabric against his bare skin. Haru turned his attention back to his work. 

Sokka frowned at Haru's downturned face, his eyes just peeking over the edge of the table. 

"Everytime I ask him something he gets _weird_ about it. Like it's too personal." 

Haru paused a second to tap his pencil to his chin. 

"Well you haven't really tried to get to know him," Haru returned to writing, "right?" 

Sokka squawked somewhat indignantly. 

"Wha-- how am I supposed to _get to know him_ if he won't _talk_ to me? How'd you get to be such a Zuko expert, huh?" Haru's pencil continued on without a hitch. 

"Well we talk a lot. Twice a week or so here in the library, and then sometimes at that cafe downtown he works at, and he ends up sleeping in my bed a lot on the weekends." He scrawled on happily as Sokka's jaw dropped. This was shocking, earth-quaking knowledge. _Zuko and Haru?_

Sokka worked his mouth a bit, trying to find a polite way to ask:

" _You and Zuko are smashing?_ " 

Well, that's what he ended up saying. And it was closer to a shriek. And the way he went from slouched to standing made his chair fall back, so everyone still in their section of the library at 4 a.m. was both glaring at and shushing them. Haru was giving him the dryest look he'd seen this side of Katara's face. 

Sokka righted his chair and sat back down. Sokka rephrased at a whisper:

"You and Zuko are doing the do?" A new thought occurred to him. "Where's Hanh during all of this?" 

That North Coast asshole was every kind of abrasive, and had made no secret of his dislike for Zuko. Hanh and Katara would get along swimmingly, probably, if he wasn’t such a douchecanoe. 

Haru returned to his writing with forced focus. He directed his answer to his homework sheet. 

"We're not sleeping together. I’m up most nights 'cause I don't have morning classes. And Zuko doesn't get a lot of free time. So,” Haru made a point to stop writing and look Sokka in the face, “whenever you sexile him when he has a night off or an early morning, he sleeps in my bed instead of the couch in the common room.” He started writing again. 

“And Hanh is barely ever in the room anyway. He spends most of his time at the frat lodges, busy getting alcohol poisoning or whatever.” Haru stopped writing, and Sokka could see that he was actually completely finished with his short answer literature homework. He stuffed the page into a folder before whipping out his physics problem set. 

Sokka let out a yawn and began reaching out to grab his backpack from the table. Sure Haru was capable of both working under duress and staying up to unspeakable hours, but Sokka needed at least some sleep before his 9 a.m. in a few hours. Haru, though, wasn’t done speaking. 

“Zuko and I did make out once. He wasn’t really into it, though, so we just watched a movie ‘til he fell asleep.” Haru, characteristically, didn’t even slow down in pencilling out his calculations. 

The night had already taken so many emotional turns that all Sokka could really do was nod sagely and tug his backpack towards himself as he stood. 

“Good to know that you’re a gentleman,” he said in a volume passively approved of by the room’s other occupants. Haru threw him a smile and a shrug. 

“Someone's gotta be. You should hang out with Zuko. And maybe hookup with your girlfriend on the nights he _does_ have work. Or, you know. At her place.”

That sounded fair to Sokka, so he left with a ‘good night’ and a lazy wave to Haru. The walk back to the dorm was chilly enough that the warmth of the dorm’s entryway made a wave of exhaustion roll through his body. Sokka only just remembered that Zuko would still be asleep when he got back.

He snuck into his own bed quietly and dropped off quickly to sleep, much too tired to wonder about why Zuko never just _told_ him that he needed the room for sleep, or the fact that _Haru_ knew what kind of kisser he was. There would be time to think about that later. 

When he woke up in the morning Sokka didn’t think about how consistently over-accommodating Zuko was. He didn’t remember the abstract thoughts on Zuko’s kissing style. 

Zuko was already three hours into his shift and Sokka was already late to lecture. 

\---

Sometimes, the only thing better than a well executed plan was a canceled one. 

Sokka walked back to the dorm with a bounce in his step. Statistics lecture was canceled, which was excellent, even if he had bemoaned every second he spent getting up (8:30 a.m. for the 9 a.m. lecture) and getting ready (switching out his sweatpants for cleaner ones, brushing his teeth, and drinking mango juice from the bottle). Yeah, it sucked that he made it through his whole morning routine for nothing. But, he was already up and he could spend his morning playing his favorite MMORPG with a clear conscience since the time had already been earmarked for class. 

So, it was with that extra energy that Sokka threw open the door to his room. Zuko, surprisingly, was there. And Zuko must have been surprised to see Sokka because he froze upon his entry, sitting pantless at his desk chair with a syringe poked into his thigh, thumb waiting on the depressor. 

Sokka, to his credit, only hesitated a second before flying into action. 

"Ok. Wow. Ok. No, this is fine." He dropped his backpack. "This-- I'm not judging man but you shouldn't use alone. Do you have naloxone?" 

Zuko, still frozen and pale on his chair, blinked. 

"What?," Zuko asked in a choked voice. Sokka turned to his closet immediately and began digging. 

"Ok that's fine too. I have some just, just hold on a second." He hastened the digging, throwing aside shoes and acquisitions from his frequent retail therapy (mostly bags and belts). The naloxone was in the side pocket of one of the duffels he had brought with him to school. Sokka turned and brandished the find with an "aha!" 

Zuko had unfrozen enough to look completely confused. Sokka was starting to get the feeling. 

"It's naloxone, like, narcan. For opioid overdose?" He threw a meaningful look at the needle in Zuko's leg. 

Zuko flushed abruptly. 

"That's-- This isn't--" he took a deep breath, "I'm not injecting _heroin_! Why would I be doing that?" He seemed a little indignant, and Sokka puffed up to match. 

"People do drugs, Zuko!”

“I know that!” 

“And stigmatizing usage only causes more harm!"

Zuko’s flush deepened and he looked a little contrite. 

"Ok, fair." Zuko conceded. He looked everywhere but Sokka’s face, still holding the needle in place.

Sokka, still clutching the naloxone, shifted a bit as the silence grew exponentially more awkward. He was trying to think of a way to break it, or at least a place to put the naloxone, when Zuko beat him to the punch.

"It's testosterone, what I'm injecting." Sokka, now, felt his face twist in confusion. 

"I'm trans?" Zuko continued, directing his gaze to the floor at Sokka’s feet. 

"Oh," Sokka said and Zuko’s face gave a twitch at the strained tone. "I, uh, didn't know you were trans."

Zuko stayed quiet. 

"I can't believe I've known you since highschool and I didn't know." Zuko’s face did something complicated, but Sokka already knew that he had misspoken and he rushed to correct himself. "I'm not trying to do that 'you pass so well' thing. Well, you do, but I know that's not, like, a compliment or cool to say. Fuck, I literally said it anyway. 

"I just mean, I've known you since highschool and I don't know anything about you." Zuko lifted his head at that and grimaced. 

"Sorry."

"Well it's not really your fault," Sokka said. "I haven't been making an effort."

Zuko shook his head. 

"No, I mean for back then. I did a lot of messed up stuff to you, and your sister, and your friends. I'm sorry for all of that. Especially the uh, punching." Sokka fidgeted awkwardly. He’d been wondering how long they could both avoid the topic. He’d been willing to wait longer, it had been fun so far-- getting to kind of know Zuko without dealing with the messiness of their shared past. "I know it's not enough but I really regret all of it. I was in a bad place but I know that's not an excuse." Zuko looked at his hand around the syringe. 

"And I don't blame you for not getting to know me. I'm not really someone people would like to know." Zuko's words hung between them for a minute until Sokka cleared his throat. 

"This is a weird conversation to have with you pantless." Zuko still couldn't meet Sokka's eye, but he nodded. 

Zuko depressed the plunger on the syringe. His skin pulled a little as he slipped out the needle and he bit back a light hiss. The syringe rested on the desk for the few seconds it took Zuko to place a bandaid over the puncture, and then it was placed into his bright red sharps container which was returned to its place in his bottom desk drawer. 

Zuko let the hiss of pain escape as he stood and pulled his sweatpants on but Sokka graciously pretended to not hear. He stood there, fiddling with with the tightened drawstrings, trying to think of a way to move on from the still very awkward moment. 

"Maybe in highschool," Sokka said suddenly. Zuko blinked at him. "Maybe in highschool people didn't wanna know you. But I wanna know you now. So." Sokka let that dangle as he looked seriously at Zuko, who nodded after a beat of hesitation. 

"Ok." 

They stared at each other, both unsure where to go from there. 

"How about gymming?" Sokka blurted out. Zuko quirked his eyebrow. "Like lifting? We could do that. Together. Weekly, at least. Hang out, bro it up." 

Sokka gave him the most neutral face he could manage. He was afraid of showing how hopeful he was, like Zuko could be really be scared away by someone wanting to be his friend. 

Zuko must have seen something in his face he could trust, though, with the way he searched it before giving another nod. 

Sokka let the bright feeling filling his chest push its way into his grin. 

"Cool." 

\---

Three 5-hour shifts at the library, three 4-hour shifts in the dining hall, two 8-hour weekend shifts at the Rosewater Cafe. Every week for six weeks, usually with extra shifts picked up every few days. 

This work schedule left Zuko so tired that his heart rate tapped a fluttering, nauseating beat against his sternum every minute of his waking day. He couldn’t remember a single moment of leisure for the past three weeks at least, given that his little spare time (excluding time for eating, sleeping, and bathing, and whatever had to be devoted to visiting various doctors’ offices) was spent talking with Haru or “gymming” with Sokka. He had scheduled appointments with TAs from three different classes and every one of those meetings was going to be the TA telling Zuko to stop falling asleep in class and start turning in work that wasn’t embarrassingly rushed. The last time Zuko had come into the room while Sokka was in it, Sokka had jumped like he’d forgotten that someone else lived there. 

Zuko was beyond running on fumes, he was moving forward only on momentum. These grueling hours of wage labor borrowing against his sleep, sanity, and GPA had finally, however, come to bear fruit. 

This meant two things: 1. Zuko could quit his job at the dining hall. He no longer needed those hours because, 2. Zuko was finally able to afford his hearing aid. 

The morning Zuko got fitted for the hearing aid was the same morning he emailed in to quit. Pressing the send button was not the biggest relief he had ever felt, but was surely in the top five. He was looking forward to actually _having time_ to do his homework, let alone being able to _hear_ what was said in class. 

Having already finished his shift at the library and sat through his two lectures, Zuko was able to complete his calculus and chemistry problem sets at a reasonable pace (though not without some struggle), and get dinner from the dining hall without having to go to work immediately after. He was able to go to bed before midnight! And he savored the experience before remembering with some chagrin that sleep came so difficultly to him that he would probably be lying awake for hours anyway. Still, though, it was nice to to have the option of lying in bed instead of being bound to clearing tables and washing dishes. 

Sokka hadn’t even texted to sexile him, which he had been doing less and less of, anyway. 

Zuko had been disappointed, though, that he hadn’t managed to see Sokka during his fresh four hours of free time. It felt like he only really saw his roommate in the scant times he could pull together between classes or before shifts or during meals. Maybe he could find out more about Sokka’s schedule, now that he actually had time to hangout. 

That being said, Zuko still hadn’t seen Sokka in the time between initiating the acquisition of his hearing aid and the next day, when he actually got it. And he didn’t know when Sokka would actually _be_ in the room next. 

So, after picking up his hearing aid and another full day of classes, and during what would have been a shift at the dining hall, Zuko was sitting at his desk working his way through his history reading when Sokka _slammed_ open the door to the room. 

Zuko fell out of his chair. 

And Sokka blinked down at him, still holding the knob. 

“What the fuck?” they said at the same time-- Sokka’s tone confused and Zuko’s more than a little pissed off. Zuko pulled himself up by the edge of the desk and looked to Sokka with a scowl.

“What, I can’t come into my own room?” Sokka said _really_ loudly and-- 

Zuko’s scowl shifted into a soft frown.

 _Ah, right._

Zuko reached up and tugged off the hearing aid to manually adjust the volume. He’d been fiddling with it all day, trying to find the right setting for class, but hadn’t yet had the chance to try it in a setting with virtually no background noise like this. It didn’t make sense to start on the higher settings when he was so unused to hearing much of anything in his left ear. He would start lower and adjust higher once he got more of a feel for it. 

Satisfied that the volume would be low enough to prevent another surprise like that, Zuko slipped the hearing aid back on and poked at it until it sat right. He looked up to see Sokka’s surprised face looking back. Zuko shrugged.

“Sorry, I gotta get used to it.” 

Sokka stared at him a bit, nonplussed. There wasn’t anything Zuko could do with that, so he sat back down at his desk and tried to find where he was in the book. 

Sokka stood in the doorway a bit longer before shaking himself off and going about his own business. He ended up at his own desk, shuffling through what Zuko had to assume was the motions of pulling his own work out of his backpack to get started on. 

They worked in silence for about an hour. Well, they worked without speaking while Zuko tried not to be overwhelmed by the increase in sound input. It had been easier earlier in the day, in class, where the previously pervasive dull noise had been sharpened in its indistinction. A hundred voices overlapping in the lecture could only be enhanced so much. But the sounds of Sokka existing as he always did had gone from a muted vagueness to jarringly present. 

Zuko’s hearing loss was best categorized as _conductive_ , the main issues being with the shriveled shell of his outer ear and the scarring around and in his ear canal. A hearing aid for him was very effective, since his inner ear mechanisms were basically untouched. It made a big difference from his normal.

Sokka slammed a textbook shut and Zuko jumped again, though he managed to stay in his chair this time. 

He had a sudden memory of his dad, silent in disapproval of something Zuko had done besides the slamming of cabinet doors as he moved around the kitchen. The memory turned his stomach, and he was stunned at the suddenness and clarity. It had, after all, been years since he could hear that fully. 

So he was going to have to get used to loud, sudden noises again and try not think about what that used to mean for him. 

_Ok, cool. Ok_. 

Zuko turned to Sokka, just to see what he was up to, to find that Sokka was already watching him. 

“Dining hall?” Sokka asked, sitting twisted in his desk chair. Zuko frowned.

“No, I quit.” 

Sokka gave a surprised look before shaking his head. 

“Oh, congrats dude.” Sokka turned back before standing and facing Zuko with his whole body and continuing. “But I meant like, do you wanna get dinner?” He gave a stretch then, his triceps straining and back popping. Zuko made an effort not to stare, turning his attention instead to marking his place in his book before closing it.

The walk to the dining hall was weird. 

Sokka didn’t say anything for several long minutes-- which was disturbingly out of character-- and kept giving him sidelong glances. Zuko, standing to the right of Sokka, was unable to catch such subtle body movement in his periphery. He was able to hear, however, when Sokka cleared his throat gently. 

Zuko looked at him, and again he was already staring intently. 

“Uh, hi?” Zuko offered. This time Sokka didn’t cut away his gaze.

“So, that’s new,” he jerked his chin towards Zuko’s left ear, “How’s, uh. How’s that working for you?”

Zuko gave it a minute of consideration. Being able to hear more was cool. The newness of that noise was a whole other thing, and didn’t really outweigh the benefits thus far. If Zuko dug into his feelings even a little bit then surely he could unveil a whole slew of feelings. He wasn’t going to do that, though. 

Zuko shrugged. 

“It’s good,” was the best that he could come up with. 

Sokka didn’t frown, exactly, but his face did something awkward. Like he also didn’t want to be part of this conversation that he had initiated. 

Well, that was his problem. Zuko was content to finish the walk to the dining hall in silence. 

Sokka, per usual, had other plans.

“You didn’t have one, a hearing aid, in highschool." He paused as if waiting for Zuko did fill in some unknowable blank. 

Zuko scowled. 

"Why are you being so fucking weird today?" Zuko asked, fully turning his head to see Sokka’s face. 

Sokka at least had the decency to look guilty. 

"I dunno, I guess," he looked frustrated, too, "you don't talk about stuff. I don’t know much about you. And I want to?"

Zuko kept his scowl and turned mostly back forward. 

"I told you I quit my job at the dining hall." 

"You did. Why _did_ you quit?" Sokka asked, with a face that Zuko didn’t catch.

"I got enough money together for the hearing aid," Zuko replied, hoping that this line of conversation would stop there. 

Sokka barely hesitated. 

"Why do you need the hearing aid?"

Zuko let out a growl. 

"Because my ear is like, burnt to shit? What the fuck kind of question is that? If this is you trying to ask about my scar then that's not happening,” Zuko barked out. He didn’t try to catch a glimpse of Sokka’s face. 

He wasn’t even mad specifically about being asked, but that this was something to ask about him. 

It was probably the most interesting thing, he thought, his fucked up face and the fucked up story behind it. What else was there to him? Anger issues and an embarrassingly thorough knowledge of _noh_ theatre?

Sokka let out a weird kind of strangled noise. 

“Ok, yeah, I can see how that maybe wasn’t the best question.” 

Zuko, still seething lightly, flinched as Sokka reached out and touched the side of his arm. When Zuko stopped walking to looked back at him, Sokka’s expression betrayed how wrongfooted he felt. He did look sorry, if only for surprising Zuko just then. And worried. 

Zuko realized he was kind of breathing funny. 

_Awesome_. 

He tried to fight the tightening in his chest, tried to remember some of the breathing exercises his uncle had taught him years ago. The memories were fuzzy at best, and the act of recalling was maybe not helping alleviate the emotionality of the situation.

After frustrating himself trying to get his breathing to even out, Zuko let out an explosive sigh, and it actually kind of helped with relieving some of the tension in his body. 

Ok, he could do this. He didn’t want to talk _about_ the scar. But, he could talk. 

“If you walk on my right side,” Zuko grit out, “I can see you better.” He turned to walk away again. 

Sokka took a minute, but he jogged to catch up on Zuko’s right.

\---

End of semester was coming in hot. So hot that Zuko was actually taking less hours at work in favor of studying. So hot that Suki had decided that it would be better to take a break-- relationship-wise-- until academics calmed down. So hot that Sokka barely had the time to agree, drowning in papers and exam reviews and regret for taking on an additional course. Why did he ever think calc, physics, and stats would be a good combination? 

The last day of review week found Sokka studying at his desk and Zuko writing a paper at his. Haru was going over flashcards on Zuko’s perfectly made bed. Suki was sprawled out on Sokka’s, contributing to a study guide on a shared document. The four of them had never hung out before like this, but the four of them had never braved university finals season either. 

Sokka definitely appreciated the company. One on hand, it would be embarrassing to break down in front of this many people, so it was a good preventative measure. And, on the other, he hadn’t been able to spend quality time with any of these people for the past few days. It was nice to know that Zuko wasn’t dead in the bowels of the library somewhere, for instance. 

They had been at it for a good few hours, though. The sky had gone from a pale gray to the reddish charcoal of light pollution against a blanket of clouds. A glance at Sokka’s desktop clock revealed that they’d all missed dinner. 

He leaned back in his chair to crack his back and get a look at everyone. Suki looked a little listless in her typing, Haru was staring blankly at his cards, and Zuko was trucking along. Sokka felt it was his duty to announce a break.

“So,” he said loudly into the mostly silent room. Two gazes turned to him. “How about some food?” 

Suki turned over to her back, abandoning her laptop at once with a deep sigh. 

“ _Yes_ , spirits, what a brilliant idea.” Sokka couldn’t see her face, but he could here mischief enter her voice. “You gotta go pick it up, though.”

Sokka let his mouth drop open indignantly. 

“Why me? It’s my room!”

“Exactly, we’re your guests,” Suki countered. Sokka pouted.

“It’s Zuko’s room, too.” He turned to speak to the back of his roommates head. Zuko’s typing had yet to falter. “Wanna come with me, Zukes? Be a good host?” 

Zuko stopped typing, then, to reach up and switch off his hearing aid. The typing resumed and Sokka blinked. That was a move he hadn’t seen before. 

Haru piped up with an easy smile. 

“I’ll help,” he said, already swinging his legs down over the side of the bed. 

“You and Zuko are getting along better,” Haru said into the brisk night. 

It was cold enough for breath to fog, but the deep frost was still eluding this region. Their hands were in their pockets as they took the walk to the convenience store at a casual pace. 

Sokka shrugged, mind half on the snacks they were about to procure. He hoped they had roast pork buns. 

The gymming _was_ helping, a bit, with getting to know Zuko. But it was slow going and Sokka-- meticulous as he was in setting and carrying out plans-- had never been particularly patient. The pace by which his Getting-to-Know-Zuko plot was progressing was agonizing. Even and especially when Sokka asked questions head on. He tried to toe more carefully than he had the day Zuko got his hearing aid, but even proceeding with caution yielded bizarre results. 

Zuko was somewhat paradoxical in his reactions to questions about himself: the simple, common ones made him clam up or pissed him right off, while the odd and rude were answered with a dizzying bluntness. 

When Sokka asked what his prospective major was, Zuko turned a deep red, muttered about being late to work, and then turned and walked out of the room-- an hour before his shift in a building ten minutes away by foot. 

But when Sokka, drunkenly receiving a glass of water from Zuko after a party, asked Zuko if his scar hurt, Zuko corrected him with one word: “Itches”. And when the glass was empty Zuko filled it again and set it on Sokka’s bedside dresser, and placed two painkillers next to the glass. And the next day, in the early afternoon, he returned from his shift at the cafe with a box of egg tarts and sat on Sokka’s bed so they could eat them together and watch videos on Sokka’s phone.

So Zuko was confusing, and sweet, and thoughtful, and he didn’t want to talk about much but he did want to go to the gym with Sokka, and tuck him in when was drunk, and eat pastries with him. 

At this point, Sokka could wax poetic about the furrow that formed between Zuko’s eyebrows as he benched, and how his bloodless knuckles revealed a history of nicks and splits from the way they clenched around the bar. 

But he couldn’t tell you when Zuko’s birthday was. Or much else, really.

“Yeah,” Sokka said, answering Haru after some minutes. “We hang out when we can.” He shrugged again. 

At that, Haru threw him a look that was so unjustifiably cryptic that Sokka was almost mad. Or maybe he was just hangry, which was fine because they arrived at the convenience store almost immediately after. 

When they made it back, laden with snacks and beverages, Sokka was disappointed to see that Zuko had managed to slip away. All Suki had to offer to his questioning look was a shrug.

The remaining three had their meal-- mostly buns, sandwiches, and cans of milk tea-- over mild chit chat. It eventually devolved into a tame pissing contest of who had the most work to complete, which lead to Haru remembering a forgotten research paper that was due in about 14 hours. Which lead to Sokka and Suki being left alone. Normally this would mean a hookup, but this close to finals week it could only mean studying or deep conversations. 

"What do you think of Zuko?” Suki asked, chin in hand and sprawled out on Sokka’s bed, once again. She gazed lazily into the can of milk tea that she was swirling in her other hand. 

Sokka leaned back in his chair and rested his head in his interlocked fingers. 

“I think he’s the weirdest person I’ve ever met. But, a good roommate. And a lot different than he was in school,” he replied. 

Suki snorted, but Sokka couldn’t really tell the tone. He looked over at her. 

“Why? What happened when Haru and I were gone?” he asked, the curiosity finally getting the best of him. 

“We talked. He apologized actually.”

Sokka’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“For what?”

“Do you remember that time Zuko kicked a folding table in half?” Suki asked before taking the last swig of her tea and setting the empty can on Sokka’s desk.

“At the Kendo Club bake sale?” Sokka asked.

“Yeah. He apologized for that. And pushing me, getting us both suspended, blah blah blah.” Suki rolled to her back and waved a hand flippantly through the air. “I accepted,” she said, answering the question before Sokka could get it out. 

He hadn’t really seen Suki and Zuko interact much now that they were all at the same school again. As far as Sokka knew, they only really saw each other in passing here in the suite. 

After the silence stretched a bit, Sokka let out a hum.

“That’s good,” he said for lack of anything else. Suki blew a puff of air to move stray hair out of her face.

“I remember back then,” she said, with something heavy in her voice, “how big and scary I thought he was.” Silence set in again. Suki was clearly saying something important, but Sokka didn’t really know what part he was supposed to play in this.

“You? Scared?” He tried a playful angle.

Suki rolled her eyes. 

“I can be brave and I can be scared. He was huge. And a huge asshole.” Suki turned back over and trained her gaze on Sokka. 

“And now he looks. He looks like _that_ ”-- _starved_ , Suki didn’t have to elaborate-- “and he couldn’t even look me in the eye when he was apologizing but I could tell he meant it. 

“I just-- what _happened_ to him?” 

Sokka felt vindicated. If Suki saw it, and was so effected by it, then that must mean he was correct in being so _concerned_ about Zuko. And, that she saw that he really wasn’t all that bad meant that he wasn’t doing some weird revisionism in his own memories. Zuko really _was_ a generally better person to be around who was also _very clearly_ going through it. 

“I really don’t know,” Sokka answered honestly. He got up from his desk and poked at Suki ‘til she rolled over to the far side and he climbed on so that they were laying side by side. “But I have a couple theories.” 

\---

Sokka liked a good plan. _Loved_ a good plan. But, he really, really liked Suki. And he didn’t regret that they had a post-finals-celebratory hookup in her room. But this left Sokka, dehydrated and exhausted, packing his bags with an urgency he didn’t know he could embody. Beyond his hardiest winter wear, he hadn’t left any clothing back home. Which meant hauling back at _least_ a full suitcase. 

And some of his textbooks, to get ahead in his year long courses. And he could stand to read the novels assigned for his spring literature class. And, spirits, _where was his laptop charger._

"Literally, under your suitcase." Zuko gave a helpful point with his dry tone. 

Sokka snatched up the elusive cord and shoved it into the suitcase. Fuck organization at this point, his flight was in three hours. 

The charger-- Sokka gave the room a glance over-- should be the last thing. 

Sokka gave one more survey, turning his whole body to look around the room. Satisfied, he finished his rotation looking at Zuko, who stared intensely back. 

_Speaking of misplaced objects_ , Zuko sat stiffly cross legged on his own bed. After the trans revelation and the hearing aid ordeal and the one time Zuko managed to walk in on Sokka and Suki hooking up, Sokka had thought that the guy would finally loosen up. He _had_ , actually, but now he was sitting and staring with one of his expressions that had too many emotions to be read as anything but deep discomfort. 

And while Sokka would like to talk to Zuko about it-- truly and genuinely-- he had to leave like right now immediately. So instead, he said:

"Have a good break? Doing whatever it is you'll be doing, wherever it is you'll be doing it?" 

Zuko's face melted into something that was pretty clearly just embarrassment. An improvement, possibly. 

"Working, here in the city. And thank you, you too." Zuko gave him a smile. A small, sweet one. 

The alarm Sokka had set on his phone to alert for his departure from campus went off. He raised his arms. 

"Hug it out?" Sokka offered with a smile that he hoped was disarming. 

Zuko must have been in a good mood, after all, because he stood from the bed with only a second of hesitation and stepped into Sokka's space. When Sokka gave him a firm squeeze, Zuko placed his hands on Sokka's back. It was stiff but, baby steps. 

They stood there for a couple breaths while the harp alarm tone on Sokka's phone continued ringing from his pocket. He broke the hug to dismiss the alarm. 

And then it was another goodbye, spoken only, and grabbing his suitcase, running out the dorm, and hopping on the trolley. The rest of Sokka's plan still stood, didn't suffer for the goodbyes he made on his way out. 

Across the city, he imagined as he boarded the plane, Zuko was probably getting ready to catch transport of his own. Or maybe he was packing and putting off his departure for the early morning, when the dorms would close for break-- no exceptions. 

Sokka's flight left exactly on time, and he was too asleep to appreciate the punctuality.


	2. Year 1 - Winter Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks who wrote comments, even though I probably won't ever reply, I need you to know that I'm in love with you
> 
> CW: homelessness

Uncle Iroh always said he never thought things through. 

Zuko could concede that that _may_ be true. He needed to work on that, he recognized, shivering his ass off at the trolley stop, long after the closing shift. 

In his defense, he had never been homeless before. When his father had kicked him out at 13, it had been straight into his uncle’s house. And he had left his uncle's directly back into his dad's. This time, he had run away headfirst into a kind of uncertainty he truly hadn’t considered until it was too late because he had known, in the short term, he would land in a dorm room. 

Maybe it was that work had kept him too busy to reckon with the reality of not having a place to stay during break, or maybe it was his tendency to ignore his bigger problems in the face of his smaller, more solvable ones. Maybe that was two ways of saying the same thing. 

Zuko was taking notes, though, on this whole situation. He’d learned a lot in these three weeks so far. Next time he’d wear a thicker coat, pack more socks, stock up on baby wipes. 

Oh, and he would do his absolute best to never, ever be in this position again. 

\---

The trolley pulled up gently enough that it didn’t generate a breeze, thankfully. Zuko’s feet were so numb that he struggled to climb on, and stumbled when the trolley started moving before he could take a seat. This was going to be one of the nights he would be sleeping on public transit, seeing as he didn’t have the cash for a motel room.

Zuko leaned his head back so that it rested on the window. He tried to ignore the cold seeping from the glass and closed his eyes. 

This whole thing was harder than he’d thought it would be. He hadn’t accounted for the cold settling in this early in winter, nor had Zuko realized how expensive staying at even a hostel could be. While those couple nights at motels had worked when he had been on his way up to the university, forty nights at any place that charged was completely out of reach. Even once a week was pushing it.

Zuko’s on-campus jobs were suspended for the break, and the temp job he’d picked up to supplement his cafe wages had hours sporadic enough that spending all his cash on a room for the night was a gamble that would likely leave him hungry and out in the cold the next day. 

He fell asleep doing mental math, that was more like wishfully constructing a scenario in which he made enough tips the rest of the week to be able to pay for the privilege of sleeping lying down. 

Zuko jerked slightly into wakefulness. 

It wasn’t enough-- and that bothered him for some reason--, but he’d rather stay asleep. Despite the chilled back of his head and the overhead light brightening the dark behind his eyelids, Zuko felt cozy under his jacket and that was enough to hold him in this half-sleep. The trolley rocked gently, and he swayed with the movement.

Someone kicked his foot, again, and as Zuko fully woke he realized that that was what had started waking him in the first place. He blinked his eyes open to glare at the person bothering him. 

The stranger stared back carelessly, sharp eyes offset by his smirking mouth, jaw gently working what looked like a popsicle stick. It bobbed in time with the movement of his mouth as he spoke. 

“You got a place to sleep tonight?” 

Zuko’s glare strengthened in response. He’d been asked this question many times. 

The first asker was so sketchy that Zuko just left the trolley entirely, not caring about having to wait forty minutes for the next trolley to pull up if it meant _not_ having to have someone look at him like that.

Zuko had actually taken the second asker up on their offer. They’d seemed nice, older and soft in a way that had reminded him of Uncle. He’d gotten as far as the elevator in their apartment complex before they slipped a hand under his coat to grab at his waist. 

He’d elbowed them in the chest and left. 

After that, Zuko started cursing out whoever dared ask him the question. He was about to do the same to this guy, but something about him threw Zuko off. 

Everyone else had asked him with either put-on kindness that was too sweet to be sincere, or a smugness that made it clear that they knew the answer and that they thought they could get him to come back with them with no trouble at. 

This guy wore a raggedy jacket with so much patching that it was impossible to tell what the original fabric was. His boots were worn such that the leather flexed like canvas. His gloves were fingerless and the scarf wrapped around his head and neck did nothing to hold back his thick, messy head of hair. 

The guy looked like if Zuko told him to fuck off, he would, which made Zuko not want to. And there was something about his face. It wasn’t his superficially smug expression, but the hard concern in eyes, maybe. The look was somehow familiar, though Zuko couldn’t think of anyone he knew now that could care that much about him. 

Zuko shook his head, answering the stranger’s question. 

His name was Jet, he said, as they stepped off the trolley a few stops later.

They were in a part of the city Zuko had passed through on the trolley-- many times now-- but had never been in, proper. It was mostly warehouses and abandoned factories, and the people who lived either in the scant housing available or on the streets themselves. 

Jet chatted easily, saying something playful judging by the tone. Zuko couldn’t follow a single word, he was so tired, but every time he snuck a look at Jet’s face there was a smile waiting. 

Their walk shortly brought them to a warehouse, apparently quite decrepit. Jet stepped through the gaping doorway without a pause and Zuko had no choice but to follow. They had entered a massive room, what was probably a production floor at one point. Whatever machinery it once held had been removed decades ago, and all manners of detritus had taken its place. It was largely garbage, but nothing especially unsanitary. A lot of it was trashed furniture and abandoned construction materials. In one corner was a massive pile of sand speckled with broken brick. As they passed through, Zuko did a double take at the frame of a small car. Jet slipped through a doorway obscured by what was likely once a couch, turned on its side. 

This next room wasn’t as big as the massive one they had just come through but big enough that, had it been empty, their footsteps would have made impressive echos. As it was, their footfalls were muffled by a contiguous covering of rugs. There were armchairs, couches, beanbags, and mats strewn all across the spacious room, with far fewer occupants than could be accomodated.

Jet continued forward, weaving around the seats with a practiced ease while Zuko tried very hard to not step on anyone’s feet, and began to make introductions. 

“That’s Longshot,” a head nodded toward Zuko from under a baseball cap, “Sneers”, a guy fussing with his bun shot Zuko a smile, “and Smellerbee,” a bony girl rolled her eyes at Jet and fixed Zuko with a look that read as less than impressed. Jet finally came to a stop at the other side of the room.

“We call ourselves the Freedom Fighters. There’s usually more of us around, I know at least Pipsqueak and the Duke are spending the night here, so I guess they’ll show up later. 

“We tend to be in and out but you can usually find me here, at least.” He looked to Zuko expectantly. Zuko blinked back and looked out at the waiting gazes of the other three. He started, realizing what they were waiting for. 

“Oh, I’m uh. Zuko.” 

They gave a more verbal welcome and Jet whisked him away again. 

“You’re more than welcome to sleep in the main room, most of us do.” They were climbing a surprisingly sturdy staircase into a lofted area. “But I figured you’d appreciate something more private.” 

The lofted area was big enough to accommodate screens and curtains thrown up to divy the space into something like rooms. As they passed a couple of the divisions, Zuko could see storage areas and what looked like bedrooms. 

“This one’s mine,” Jet said when they stopped in front of the room at the end. The space was one of the smaller ones, and positively crammed with belongings. A shikibuton took up one side, sitting on a frame made of wood pallets and piled with blankets and pillows. The other side of the room was mostly shelves full of books and clothing. There were shoes strewn across the floor and photos pinned to the curtain walls. 

"Sorry about the mess," Jet said as Zuko stepped into the room, "I wasn't expecting a guest." Zuko came to a stop in front of one of the photos, a weathered polaroid: a woman and a small child making faces at the camera, identical eyebrows contorted over mirthful eyes. When Zuko turned to look at him, Jet's face had let go of the perpetual smirk for a rueful smile. Jet turned away and slowly took the few steps to the doorway.

"Make yourself at home. If you need to use the bathroom, ask Smellerbee about it. She'll be up for a bit, still.” He looked back over his shoulder as he spoke. “I, unfortunately, gotta finish running the errands I was in the middle of. But I'll see you in the morning, for breakfast, if you stick around that long."

And then Jet left with nothing more than a parting smile and the swish of his coat. 

Zuko didn't need to use the bathroom. He paced the scant floor space for a few minutes before sitting down on the bed. When Jet didn’t return after a half hour, and no one else came up, Zuko allowed himself to settle under the blankets. After an hour of anxious turning he dropped off sharply, and slept like a corpse until sunrise. 

The morning sun filtered in through the massive warehouse windows, illuminating cracks and sheets of plastic taped up to keep the worst of the weather out. Direct light couldn’t reach him, but the curtain wall flush to the bed glowed a warm orange. 

Zuko stretched under the sheets, grunting as his lower back popped. He curled back up into the warmth his body had generated in the night. 

Zuko allowed himself thirty seconds to relish it, letting his eyes slip shut. He counted the seconds and threw the sheets off himself at the twenty-ninth. His shift would be starting soon. 

He did not stay for breakfast.

\---  
  


“So who’s this ‘Zuko’, again?” Bato asked casually as he scrubbed at a burnt-on spot in a pan. Sokka, who was on drying duty, blinked in surprise. 

His father had already brought up Zuko three times in conversation that first week of break, each time recalling a different fight Sokka and him had been in at school. Katara, to her own credit, had only brought Zuko up once herself. Granted, it had been to heap insults upon his name, but Sokka had expected worse out of her. 

Straining on his tiptoes to reach, he set the platter he had been drying into its place on the shelf above the fridge before frowning back at Bato. Sokka thought about his myriad of highschool fights. 

_Surely Bato had come to pick him up at least once._

Sokka said as much, and Bato drily raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m gonna need you to do better than ‘you maybe saw him in passing once’.” 

Sokka returned to Bato’s side to take the now clean pan from his hands. 

“He had this ponytail? And like, half his head shaved. And, uh,” Sokka gestured at his left eye. He didn’t quite know how to put this delicately. 

“Eyes? A face?” Bato volunteered. Sokka rolled his eyes. 

Before he could tell Bato the sarcasm was unnecessary, Katara came into the kitchen with all the meal’s cutlery in hand and a reply at the ready. 

“A terrible attitude and a huge scar, is what Sokka’s referring to,” she shot in. 

Sokka sent a scowl her way, and she pointedly didn’t look back. Bato hummed thoughtfully. 

“A scar, huh?” He paused. “Ah, is he the one who busted your lip on your first day of year 10?” 

Sokka sighed. 

“It was the third day, actually.”

Bato shrugged, and turned back to the sink to begin soaping the spoons. A small frown settled onto his face. 

“Must’ve been a painful scar to receive, and on such a young face. I can relate to being that pissed off all the time.”

Katara had the good grace to look embarrassed at forgetting about Bato’s own huge scar. She ducked back out of the kitchen with a muttered apology. 

They washed and dried in silence for a bit longer, and when they were done Bato scrubbed his hands up with soap. 

“He’s a good roommate, I’m assuming? Since it seems you’re keeping him around,” Sokka leaned back against counter and twisted the damp dishcloth in his hands. He nodded. 

“Zuko’s a good guy. And, he could use a friend, I think.”

The thing with Sokka’s dads was that even if Hakoda was-- debatably-- the Cool One, Bato was always the Chill One. Things that eventually went over with Hakoda sometimes required hours of conversation, conversation that was healthy and affirming, but exhausting. 

Bato was a man of carefully chosen words and a discerning eye. There were times that he saw through Sokka so easily it unnerved him. Now though, seeing the glimmer in Bato’s eye, Sokka was relieved that his intentions were understood with so little fanfare. 

Bato gave a smile.

“Well, then I hope you get to be good friends.” 

Sokka let out a soft sigh.

“Me too.”

\---

Toph drummed her heels against the cabinet she was sitting on in a slow beat. It was the soundtrack to Sokka’s steadily growing annoyance.

"So he's not an angry asshole anymore? What, is he just some normie with a ponytail now?" she demanded. Toph wasn’t hesitant to accept Zuko’s transformation, per se, but certainly reluctant to believe that nothing especially dramatic had happened in their semester of living together. 

Sokka hummed from his position bent under the hood of his car, poking at the radiator. 

He thought back to the time during finals, not even two weeks ago, when he had watched Zuko actually pull some of his own hair out in an expression of stress. 

“Uh, I don’t if ‘normal’ is the right idea, but definitely not an angry asshole. More like a really stressed out, less volatile, and actually nice version of himself. And without a ponytail, actually.” 

Toph scowled, and muttered: 

"Not even a ponytail anymore, ugh." 

Sokka rolled his eyes. 

“He sounds boring, to be real,” she said more audibly. 

“I can’t believe you’re friends with Zuko now,” Aang said from the driver seat, flicking the headlights on and off which Sokka _already told him to stop doing_ , ”I wanna be friends with Zuko.” 

Sokka couldn’t see to confirm but if he had to guess, Aang was pouting. 

The radiator looked sound enough. So, Sokka would flush the radiator, and then he would figure out whatever the shit was going on with the air conditioning. 

“Well you can be friends with Zuko when you randomly end up as his roommate in grad school or something. Aang, _stop_ playing with the headlights _,_ dude."

Aang got out of the car and came around to squat at the side of the hood. Yeah, he was pouting, until a thought occurred to him and his cloudy expression cleared with an excited grin. 

“Hey, you should invite Zuko over here during the summer! And then we could all be friends with him!” 

Toph, surprisingly, gave a thoughtful, somewhat assenting hum. 

“Write that one down in your planner, Sokka,” she said teasingly. Sokka fought valiantly to not rise to the bait and Toph moved on. 

“What _is_ his royal former-douchiness doing for break? If he’s not home,” Toph asked, setting her chin in her hand. 

The sureness in her tone actually gave Sokka pause, and he turned a little to talk over his shoulder. 

“How did you know he’s not home?” Where exactly was Toph getting this insider knowledge? The only reason Zuko had told _Sokka_ he’d be staying behind was a full semester of friendship-cultivation.

“Well, I know his family is a shitshow. And if he’s not with his uncle then he’s probably not with any of his family.” She flapped a hand through the air. “Connecting dots, it’s what I do.”

“Ok, and how do you know he’s not with his uncle?” Sokka asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“How do _you_ manage to ask the stupidest questions ever?” Toph shot back, rather unfairly.

“Hey! That’s literally a completely reasonable question.” Sokka turned back to the underhood of his car, grumbling while tightening some random bolts. 

“It’s ‘cause I’m a really good listener,” Toph said with a shit eating grin. “And I know his uncle.”

Sokka didn’t pause in his bolt turning. 

“You know what, I’m not even gonna ask. I don’t care anymore. Stay cryptic, _I’m_ trying to get this thing running.”

“And _I’m_ taking up archery,” she shot back from her spot on the cabinet.

Sokka had a brief moment of satisfaction at the indignant “ _ow!_ ” that Toph let out when he nailed her in the shoulder with a spare bolt. It wasn’t really worth it, though, went she dropped from the counter to punch him in his own shoulder with frightening accuracy and impact. 

“Why’re you even asking me this?” she asked him grumpily. “If you’re his friend you should actually like, know stuff about him.”

Sokka turned to glare at Toph.

“I know things about him!” Sokka flipped through his mental Zuko Fact Rolodex, trying to find something that wasn’t weird and observational, like the fact that Zuko had a couple freckles on the side of his neck, or that he had snorted water while laughing more than once. “He’s bad at math. He’s a morning person. He, uh. He likes soup?”

Aang, still crouched around the car from Sokka, nodded as though to encourage him further. Toph looked unimpressed. 

“Everyone likes soup, jackass." She crossed her arms imperiously. "This is my challenge to you--" 

Sokka resisted the urge to brain himself with the wrench in his hand. 

"I don't want or need a challenge," he tried to cut in, but Toph bulldozed over him. 

"-- if you can get him to tell you how he got his scar, then you can say you're really his friend."

Sokka scowled at Toph, and if she could see the look on his face, she may have said it looked like a Zuko Original. 

“No, that’s fucked up and you know it. I’m not playing any stupid games about this.”

Toph scoffed.

“I’m not saying make a game out of it. I’m saying you’ll know you’re friends when he trusts you, and when getting to know him isn’t entirely like pulling teeth. Though that _may_ just be his shining personality.” 

Sokka rolled his eyes and turned back to his repairs, for real this time. He knew that if he stopped indulging Toph by reacting, she’d leave him alone to go pick a fight with Katara instead. 

It worked after about a minute, and Aang trailed her into the house, leaving behind a finally quiet garage. 

As Sokka worked he thought a bit and frowned because, ok, maybe Toph was making a point or two. She didn’t actually give practical advice for _building_ friendship with Zuko. In fact, if Sokka followed even the vibes of most of what Toph was saying, Zuko would probably be requesting a room transfer. 

But, she had introduced a good measure: trust. 

He didn’t just want Zuko as a friend. He wanted _Zuko_ to consider _him_ a friend, without any doubt. Sokka didn’t want to hear the story of Zuko’s scar even kind of, regardless of how willing the hypothetical telling. But, he wanted to be good enough friends with Zuko that he felt comfortable talking about that kind of deeply personal thing with Sokka. 

Sokka’s thoughts brushed against a memory of walking to the dining hall with Zuko. He thought of Zuko fighting to even his breaths out, the rhythmic clenching of his jaw and his temple jumping in time. The tired and awkward and just barely hopeful look on his face as he told Sokka to walk on his right side. There was weight, in Zuko saying that. Sokka wanted to bear that weight with him. Maybe throw in a stone or two of his own.

He scrubbed at a patch of rust with vigor, thinking of Toph’s words. He frowned a little more.

And blushed the lightest of blushes because, to Sokka, Zuko really did shine-- and not in a remotely sarcastic way. 

\---

Zuko spent three nights avoiding the trolley line he had met Jet on. He didn't have a reason why, except for the fact that he was used to doing things alone. Why should Zuko need another person when he’d been just fine so far, he thought.

Except he always fucked it up, didn't he? He couldn't even budget for housing long enough to keep a roof over his head for just winter break. 

That fourth day after his stay at Jet's found Zuko riding the commuter rail all night, and waking every time the train reached the end of the line and the announcement came overhead. 

Right before daybreak a regretful-looking conductor woke Zuko to kick him off, as the train was being retired to the yard. 

Zuko ended up waiting at the suburban end of the line for two hours, shivering on the snow dusted platform and watching light come into the sky until the grey clouds shone mutedly. Zuko kicked at a bottle cap and cringed when it scraped across the concrete it was resting on. He waited some more.

He worked the cafe that day, open to close even though the owner kept trying to get him to leave the second shift early and “get some rest”. Zuko bit his lip, hard, to keep from snapping at the middle-aged man. His boss was kind, but probably not enough so to tolerate being yelled at by his least amiable server. 

When he did finally step outside after finishing closing, snow was flurrying down to the asphalt and sticking. 

Zuko closed his eyes briefly, the past few days and years of unrest rushing in so fully that his knees almost gave out. 

_Ok_ , he thought. He could swallow his pride and whatever else was bubbling up into his chest if it meant not freezing to death that night once the transit was inevitably grounded for inclimate weather. 

The way to Jet’s was only just barely in Zuko’s memory. He actually walked right past the correct warehouse on his first go, and spent an extra ten minutes stepping through the growing snow piles before he was sure that he was where he meant to be. And then, a few seconds extra trying to think of what he would even _say_ when he walked in. 

It turned out that his anxieties about seeing Jet were for naught. 

“He’s asleep, in his own bed for once,” Smellerbee said as she began digging through a bin full of what proved to be blankets. “So, you’re gonna have to sleep down here.” 

She pointed to a particularly slouchy couch and slapped a pile of blankets onto one of the broad armrests. 

“This one looks gnarly but it’s the softest thing in the world. Don’t think about the stains.” And then Smellerbee cracked the first smile Zuko had seen from her in their short time being acquainted. 

“Welcome aboard,” she said before wandering off to her own bed.

\---

Zuko woke to the sound of many people attempting to move quietly. He laid still a moment, trying to visualize the motions he was hearing, but soon gave up and cracked his eyelids. It was the Freedom Fighters, all that he had met and many he had not, arranging plates on the various tables clustered in the middle of the sofa formation. A couple cringed lightly, seeing that Zuko was awake. Others gave him cheeky smiles. He blinked owlishly at them all, and then at Jet once he looked over to see that Zuko had woken up. 

“Figured I’d bring breakfast to you this time,” he said like Zuko disappearing for days was an inside joke, his smirk at the ready.

Zuko didn’t know how to reply. Handling freely given affection had never been a strength of his. 

He sat up, bundling himself in blankets, and gave his thanks quietly. 

The assembled Freedom Fighters began to sit and serve themselves, their surprise having been sprung. Jet scooped up a couple plates and filled them with some of the assorted foods-- rice, boiled eggs, pickled veggies, and convenience store snack cakes among them-- before strolling over to Zuko and plopping himself at his feet. He balanced a plate on Zuko’s blanket-filled lap before tucking into his own. 

“I’m glad to see we didn’t manage to scare you off. It’s good to see you, man.” 

Zuko, inexplicably, blushed as he nodded his thanks. Jet, mercifully, didn’t mention it even if his smile grew. 

\---

Zuko stayed, and when he (needlessly) defended his stay by explaining that it would only be a couple weeks now, Jet waved it off. 

He wasn’t always there when Zuko came home for the night, but he usually was when Zuko woke in the mornings, sometimes with breakfast in hand. Often it seemed that he was there just to offer Zuko a smirk and an anecdote from whatever errand or mild crime he had been up to the night before. 

Some mornings they talked for hours. Jet narrated close brushes with the authorities, plots of books he couldn’t remember the titles of, and recipes for particularly good dishes he made. And Zuko would listen raptly, running his eyes over Jet’s handsome face in the changing light.

It was that last morning waking up alone in Jet’s bed that Zuko realized he had formed a kind of expectation. This expectation had been snowballing from that very first night. It was something that had been formed from looking into Jet’s eyes and had grown with every moment they had spent together. 

And it was fulfilled when instead of standing in the curtain doorway, smirking and offering quips, Jet crossed the room and planted a kiss right on Zuko’s mouth. 

It was quick, declarative. When he leaned back to gauge Zuko’s reaction, Zuko threw a hand forward to drag Jet back in by his collar. 

After an indeterminably long makeout session, Zuko rested his forehead against Jet’s collarbone.

“What took you so long?” 

Jet pressed a soft smile into Zuko’s tousled hair. 

“You needed a place to stay, with no conditions. But since you’re headed back to school today, this isn’t your only option anymore. 

“Not that I would have kicked you out if we had a thing that went sideways, but the most important thing was making sure you had someplace you felt safe being. So.” Jet shrugged. Zuko’s comfort was a priority, to him. Easy as that. 

Zuko nuzzled his face into Jet’s neck.

“Thank you,” he breathed into the stubble forming there. Jet’s smile grew to a grin. 

“Anytime, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect updates once a month, likely in the last week. Procrastination is my passion, ty for your patience.


	3. Year 1 - Spring Sem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. one of my fave minor characters, anti-Pakku subliminal messaging, and my love affair with commas
> 
> CW: direct discussion of disordered eating, gender dysphoria; implied sexual content

Sokka’s flight had been delayed twice: for dangerous weather conditions and-- once that had cleared-- to replace a pilot who had eaten bad shrimp at the poke bar. It’s not even like Sokka had a tight schedule to be stressed about messing up, but he’d been looking forward to having time to relax before having to prepare for classes starting back up in a couple days. And, he had really been looking forward to seeing Zuko. 

Well, as he finally lugged his suitcase into his room, evening having long set in, Sokka managed to see Zuko. 

A lot of Zuko. And far, far too much of that other guy, whoever he was. 

Sokka sat on the couch, heels of his palms pressed into his eyes, as Haru half-heartedly attempted to console him. Or, more accurately, poked at his fresh psychic wound with disturbing positivity.

“Do you believe in karma, Sokka?” Haru asked serenely. When Sokka lifted his head to glare at Haru, he was met with a contented smile and a shrug. The glare intensified as Sokka’s internal dialogue whined in grief. 

How was he getting so much joy out of this? Haru had his own room, he didn’t even have skin in this game. Oh spirits, _skin_. 

Sokka returned to grinding his palms into his eyes and aggressively fighting the blush trying to make its way onto his face. 

At that moment, Zuko walked out of the room with Other Guy in tow, both of them mercifully dressed. Other Guy had his arm slung around Zuko’s shoulders and an annoying smirk set on his face. Zuko at least looked apologetic.

“In my defense, I tried to text.”

Sokka squinted at the pair from between his fingers. He jerked a chin towards Other Guy.

“Who’s this?” 

Other Guy’s smirk intensified. Zuko blushed harder, but gave an uncharacteristically sappy smile. 

“This is Jet. Jet, this is Sokka, my roommate.” 

Jet’s smirk took on a genuine edge that was reflected in his voice. 

“Nice to meet you, Sokka.” 

Sokka nodded in reply, hoping it conveyed something like ‘likewise’ without actually having to say it outloud to a near stranger whose junk he may or may not have just seen. 

It seemed that Haru and Jet had already been introduced, as Zuko gently tugged Jet into the hallway after that without another word. They had a moment in whatever privacy they were able to find outside the suite. 

Haru wandered into the kitchen to find a snack and Sokka stood and went to properly deposit his suitcase onto his bed. What he really wanted to do was fall asleep then and there, or bleach his eyeballs, but he knew that he’d be kicking himself tomorrow for not unpacking at least some of his clothes-- intense psychological damage or not. 

That’s what Sokka was doing-- huffily pulling clothes from his bag and stuffing them into his dresser-- when Zuko returned to the room a short while later. 

Sokka listened to Zuko fidget at the door for a bit before turning around. He was brought up short seeing how contrite Zuko looked. _Spirits_ , he’d forgotten who he was dealing with here. 

“I really did try to text you,” Zuko said barely above a whisper, arms crossed tight. 

Sokka softened immediately. 

"I was probably in the air, it's not your fault I didn't get it. Thanks for trying, at least. 

"And hey, it looks like you had a fun break. Good for you, bud." He could white knuckle it through the awkwardity. 

Zuko shrugged, barely relaxing at Sokka's weak attempt at a joke. 

"We just got together today, actually." He hastened to clarify at the surprise on Sokka's face. "I mean! I know him, I was staying with him. But we weren't, like, together."

Sokka tried to remember Zuko ever mentioning a Jet, or someone of a similar description. He’d honestly thought that Zuko’s only other friend was Haru. 

“Is Jet a friend from work?” Sokka asked.

Zuko avoided Sokka’s eyes. 

“No, we met on the trolley.”

Sokka waited for Zuko to elaborate. He continued to not. 

“Is he,” Sokka paused to think up _something_ appropriate and not overly invasive, “nice?” 

“Um,” Zuko blushed much deeper than at being caught in bed. “Yeah, he is.” He actually loosened up a bit and gave an absent minded smile. Sokka gave a smile in return. 

“Ok, good. And, congrats on the new bf.”

Zuko blushed even harder and sat on his desk chair, presumably to avoid passing out given all the blood rushing into his head. He rocked the chair back slightly and fixed his attention on Sokka’s hands as they pulled clothing out of his bag by the handful.

“How was your break?” Zuko asked.

“I worked, well I _work_ \-- but only during breaks, now-- at my block’s corner store. So, a lot of that. And I tinkered with my car, which is becoming less and less of a rust bucket. And I got to spend a lot of time with my family and friends. It was really nice, I dunno.” 

Zuko nodded dutifully, lightly rocking the tilted chair with his tiptoes on the floor. 

“How’s your family?” Zuko asked politely. Sokka carried a pile of socks over to his dresser and gave Zuko a glance on the way. He was looking back with an expression of genuine curiosity. Warmth bloomed in Sokka’s chest.

“They’re good. Katara graduates highschool this year, so she’s trying to figure what she’s gonna do next year. My stepdad, he uh,” Sokka gave the sock drawer a bump with his hip to close it, “he’s a writer. And he finished the first full draft of the book he’s been working on. My dad took us all out to dinner to celebrate, which was cool.” 

Sokka dumped the underwear and odds and ends that filled the bottom of his bag onto his bed and zipped the bag back shut. 

“Oh! My Gran Gran broke up with her annoying boyfriend and joined a knitting club to fill up her time.” Sokka snatched a beanie out of the pile of clothes and underhanded it to Zuko, who caught it when it bounced off his chest. 

“This is really nice,” he said, turning the harvest yellow hat over in his hands and admiring the neat stitching. Sokka nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, she gave me a bunch to give to my friends. That one can be yours, if you like the color.” 

Zuko looked surprised, still, even after Sokka took the time to stuff the bag into his closet. It was too early in the semester to have an emotional crisis over Zuko being shocked at either being called Sokka’s friend, or a casual act of kindness directed towards him, so Sokka decided to keep rolling with it. 

He strode up to Zuko, tugged the hat out of his hands, and slipped it onto Zuko’s head. His fingers brushed Zuko’s hair as he pulled the hat down to his ears. Sokka wondered about his haircare routine, and stepped back to admire his work. 

“It fits. And it’s a good color on you.”

Zuko was blushing, faintly. He cleared his throat. 

“Tell your grandmother I say thank you,” he requested, running a hand over his head to tug the hat from its position over his eyebrows to something that looked less dorky. 

Sokka whipped out his phone and snapped a picture of Zuko faster than he could protest.

“I’ll text her this pic with the ‘thank you’, she’s gonna fall in love with you.”

\---

Jet _was_ nice. He was charming, friendly, sharp witted. When he hung around the suite, he could start a jovial conversation with anyone. Jet could talk to _Hahn_ without punching him in the face. And he would pull Zuko into the conversations, even with the suitemates that had resolutely ignored Zuko’s existence in any other context.

It was him being a good guy for Zuko that was the main reason Sokka could stand having Jet around. Because otherwise-- for reasons unknown to him-- Sokka couldn’t _stand_ Jet. 

The grin that made Zuko blush made Sokka’s eye twitch. Having him around, the PDA, the occasional sexile, it would drive him up the wall, but-- 

He’d never seen Zuko this happy, nor this social. So, when Jet tagged along to the dining hall or winked at Sokka on his way out of the suite after Sokka received the all-clear text, or hosted a party in the warehouse he called home, Sokka sucked it up. He made polite conversation, he bid Jet ‘goodnight’, and he brought along a twelve pack of beer. 

And when the dislike bubbled up, he tamped down on it without looking at what was underneath.

\---

Zuko, despite being an absurdly early riser, couldn’t match Sokka’s penchant for punctuality and so was five minutes behind Sokka in arriving to their ‘Into to Studio Art’ class. This meant, disappointingly, that they wouldn’t get to sit next to each other in the giant circle of students seated at drawing easels. They weren’t close enough to talk without being entirely disruptive. All they could do from their respective positions across the circle was make facial expressions at each other, which had to be abandoned once it became clear that Zuko could not understand Sokka’s eyebrow gestures in the slightest.

The professor paced the room in slow circles, demanding attention with his perfect posture and smooth voice. 

"The department chair won't let me rename this course, despite "Intro to Studio Art" meaning essentially nothing. I would like to impress upon you all that this class should be called _Understanding Form_ , because that is what we will be attempting to do. In learning to represent things, people, and concepts, we will come to understand their forms. We’ll be covering the fundamentals of traditional visual art forms, starting with charcoal and graphite drawing. 

"From there, we will move into painting, then minor sculpture work, and, if we have time, maybe even a little section on ceramics. For now, though, we will be taking form as we observe it and placing it on a page.

“And your task today,” Piandao whipped the sheet off the center table, “is to draw this still life.”

Groans went up around the room. He frowned, seeming genuinely taken aback, and Sokka got the feeling. It was a really nice arrangement of boxes and fruit, he thought. He wouldn't mind putting these down on paper. 

“That’s not exciting enough for you all then?” Piandao asked the room at large, and it wasn't _not_ intimidating. A couple students had the audacity to shake their heads, though. 

_Art majors are hardcore_ , Sokka thought. 

Piandao contemplated for a second before shucking off his robe, revealing a bare and surprisingly well-toned torso. “Fine, you have ten seconds to draw me.” He struck a pose. “Go!”

Most of the students sat blinking at Piandao for the first few seconds before taking a cue from the students that had taken him seriously and started immediately. 

The professor called the ten seconds, switched poses, and began another. He did this a half dozen times and gave the class a break so he could take a lap of the room, not commenting on anyone’s work but pausing every now and then for a closer look. He struck an intimidating figure despite his shirtlessness, what with his stoic demeanor and well-groomed facial hair. Sokka wondered briefly if he manscaped. 

“Ok, now, you’re going to use a quarter page for each of these,” Piandao said before moving through four one-minute poses. Then he had them do two five-minute poses, a half page for each. And then, climbing onto the table and lounging like a king upon a daybed amongst the fruits, they all settled in for a thirty minute pose. 

On his way off the table, Piandao snagged a sand pear. He munched on it slowly as he made rounds of the room once again, this time commenting on everyone’s work.

When he got to Sokka, he complimented Sokka’s inclusion of some of the fruits and the definition Sokka had put into Piandao’s arm muscles. Sokka thanked him and tried very hard to not blush. 

He was still flustered by the time Piandao reached Zuko, but the look on Zuko’s face drained the good feeling from him. Piandao had paused especially long while looking at Zuko’s drawing, and Zuko was staring straight at it as well. He looked nauseous at Piandao’s prolonged silence, grinding his bottom lip hard between clenched teeth. 

“This is flat,” Piandao said, finally, and Zuko flushed scarlet. He ducked his head slightly. Sokka was completely thrown. Piandao had had yet to say anything negative about any of the pieces, even though there _had_ to be a couple rough ones. Sokka could see that the girl next to him hadn’t tried to draw the professor’s hands, and all Piandao had said about hers was that she had done excellent shading. 

“I know,” Zuko said quietly. Piandao gave a hum. 

“Do you have an obligation immediately after this class?” he asked Zuko, who shook his head. “Stay after. We’ll chat.”

Piandao moved onto the next student. 

The air of the class had become tense. Zuko’s direct neighbors were trying to discreetly sneak peaks at the drawing that was apparently so bad that Zuko had to be talked to after class. 

Class ended right after Piandao looked over the last student’s work, and Sokka was too swept up in the flow of students leaving to check in with Zuko in a way that wouldn’t make it incredibly obvious that he was doing it. Piandao was already approaching Zuko, anyway. 

Piandao had slipped his robe back on and stood facing Zuko, hands on hips, studying Zuko's face. Zuko was trying very, very hard to maintain eye contact. His cheeks were burning, again, and he could only imagine what his expression must have looked like. 

"I remember your portfolio," Piandao began. Zuko blinked. "From your application. I can recall some portraiture, but nothing that suggested live drawing. 

"I also remember being impressed by your work." Piandao strolled over to Zuko's side and faced the drawing pad with him. "I'm not seeing a lack of skill. Your lines are excellent, and you almost have the perspective right. But here," he reached forward to an area Zuko had redrawn several times, "I can see the problem." 

Piandao turned to Zuko, then, and spoke to the side of his head. 

"You're blind in your left eye, aren't you?" 

Zuko felt his blush deepen, somehow, and gave a small nod instead of attempting words that he knew would fail him. 

Piandao paused for a second.

"I didn't see you on the accommodation list. I'm going to assume there's a reason for that," he said, almost gently.

Zuko kept his head declined and didn't answer. He didn't know what to say, hadn't realized that that was a thing he could ask for and felt stupid for not having done so about his hearing, before he’d gotten his hearing aid.

Piandao seemed to marinate a bit on Zuko’s lack of response. 

"Well, unless you have any questions for me, I believe that’s all for today. You're dismissed, thank you for your time. I’ll see you next class," he said abruptly. He turned away towards the center table. 

Zuko blinked again. He packed his things up dazedly, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t done it along with the rest of the class. Zuko had expected beratement for his drawing, considering that he was the only to be called out. But he had gotten a virtually unrelated compliment and an indirect recommendation for a visit to the Student Disability Office. 

He snuck a look at Piandao while he shrugged his backpack on. Piandao was seated at the edge of the table, already watching Zuko, and peeling lychees.

“Hold out your hand,” he demanded lightly. Zuko, nonplussed, slowly reached out a cupped palm. Piandao tossed a whole lychee into the dead center of his palm so that catching it was as easy as closing his hand into a fist. 

Piandao nodded at Zuko’s confused stillness, a second dismissal. Zuko took it gratefully.

Sokka was waiting for him in the hall with an apparent nervousness about him. 

“So,” Sokka asked as they walked out of the art building. “What’d he say?”

Zuko squinted into the sunlight reflecting off the snow-blanketed lawn and did not even try to keep the confusion out of his voice.

“He gave me fruit,” was the only thing Zuko could articulate. Sokka, now, squinted at Zuko. Zuko showed him the lychee in his palm. Sokka looked at the lychee intently, and began nodding. 

“Ok,” he said, as though it clarified anything. 

Next class was better. 

The good vibes were back, that second session, having recovered from the awkwardity of watching a student’s public humiliation-- however unintentional it may have been. Zuko, certainly, was taking it with grace. 

And something was up, clearly, given that the drawing easels had all been replaced by long, canvas-bound tables. 

The class settled confusedly onto the stools surrounding the tables, and Sokka made sure to get a seat right by Zuko. He was but a table’s width away. Piandao stood at the front of the room with his hands joined behind his back, perfect posture as always. 

“My department chair is furious with me,” Piandao began. “Luckily, he’s also my husband, so firing me would be a scandal. 

“As you may be able to tell, I’ve decided to switch up the syllabus a bit. Instead of focusing on the basics of _drawing_ form, we will be moving further into interpreting form far more intimately. Though beginning with 2-dimensional visual arts is more traditional, I don’t think that’s going to work for everyone. And, well, I like to mix it up every now and then. So, today we begin a new series of projects.” 

With what was becoming clearly typical dramatics, Piandao whipped a cloth from the table next to him, revealing dark red clay. “Grab a slab, and grab a partner. You’ll be sculpting each other’s faces. You may ask me _technical_ questions, but you may only consult your _partner_ when it comes to the rendering of their face. Begin.”

Zuko and Sokka turned to each other at the same time, and grinned with the unspoken understanding that they would be partners. 

The classroom was abuzz with shuffling and murmurs about the drastic change in the syllabus. Those noises eventually petered out in favor of the scraping of hands and wooden tools against clay, and the ambient bipa music Piandao had begun playing over the classroom speakers. 

This time Piandao didn’t stop the class for critiques, but instead made a mostly random path through the room, answering student’s questions and giving a comment here and there. 

He did call a break time halfway through the class period, to make sure everyone was staying hydrated and stretching out their hands in light of the unfamiliar, hard work of molding clay. 

With only a half hour left in class, Piandao stepped up to Zuko from behind, and peered over his right shoulder at the startlingly accurate rendition of Sokka’s Concentrating Face. 

“Excellent work, this is an incredible amount of detail for the time allotted.” Piandao pointed to the furrow between Clay Sokka’s brows. “And an impressive understanding of the medium. What is your experience with ceramic work?”

Zuko gave a couple false starts, flushing under the sudden scrutiny of half the classroom, but eventually got his words in order. 

“I’ve only used clay in a couple general classes, so I haven’t gotten the chance to work with it a lot.” 

Piandao nodded seriously. 

“Well, then I’m all the more impressed. I look forward to seeing what you can do with some practice, if this is your natural talent in sculpting coming through,” he said, and then walked away like he hadn’t given an outstanding commendation of Zuko’s work. Zuko, along with half the class, gaped at Piandao’s back. 

Zuko turned to Sokka, whose gaping mouth turned to a wide grin. He raised his eyebrows and mouthed, “ _dude_ ” at Zuko excitedly. Zuko ducked his head and smiled at the Clay Sokka in his hands. 

So, yeah. Better.

\---

Zuko and Jet were still dating, earnestly, which was _fine_ as much as it was a bit annoying considering that Sokka had a lot of free time lately and Zuko, once again, had virtually none. Not that Sokka begrudged Zuko time spent with his boyfriend. Or that he even disliked Jet overly much (once you looked past Sokka’s deep-seated aversion to him). Even now, two months into the relationship, he seemed like a good enough guy. 

Anyway, part of the reason Sokka was irritated about not having Zuko around, and why he _had_ so much free time in the first place, was because it seemed that Suki was avoiding him. 

Operation Genuinely Befriend Zuko was stalling without the target party present and Being Suki’s Boyfriend wasn’t easy when she was just as absent.

The reasoning he assured himself with was that where Sokka had decided to make his spring semester more manageable by taking an art class instead of the next Stats level, Suki had decided to take both Intro Anthropology and Intro Sociology. There was barely a part of her waking day that wasn’t spent doing readings, and the work wasn’t about to let up. Sokka couldn’t be that surprised, nor that hurt, that she wasn’t able to make time for him.

The weekend immediately following midterms, though, she invited Sokka over to her place. It was clear that something was up as soon as Suki opened the door. 

She bustled around her cramped room-- a double in an older dorm block that did bathrooms and kitchens by floor instead of by suite-- neatening and shuffling her things until Sokka managed to reel her in for a kiss. The kiss made Suki finally take a pause, and as soon as Sokka pulled back to ask her what was wrong, what had been wrong these past few weeks, she blurted out:

“I’m bi! And I needed to tell you that!” 

They gave each other twin blinks, somehow both caught exactly as off guard as the other. 

Sokka’s brain took a second to kick into gear.

“That’s, really cool. Congrats! Thank you for trusting me with this, Sukes.” Sokka gave her a bright smile. “Is that what’s got you so wound up?” Suki fidgeted. Her averted eyes did nothing to hide her facial expression, an expression he had never seen on her face but that sunk a pit into his stomach.

And, well, being broken up with sucked. 

All of Suki’s reasons made sense, which made it hard to be upset. 

  1. She wanted to explore her bisexuality
  2. She didn’t want to string Sokka along for that exploration
  3. Their dynamic was almost exactly the same as friends as it was when they were involved romantically 



It was also hard to be upset when the person doing the breaking still so clearly loved you.

“I like being with you, a lot. But taking that break at the end of last semester made me realize that being with you is comfortable, and we’re just as close as friends.

“Like, I love you, but I’m not _in love_ with you. ” Suki said. “And you deserve someone who’s head over heels for you. That’s not me. I don’t think it’s gonna be, and I don’t think it’s fair to either of us for me to try and wait and see.” Sokka nodded along, not able to make eye contact and not really trying to.

“You’re still my best friend, and I’m glad we tried this. I’m just sorry I didn’t figure this out before we got more serious. I didn’t want to hurt you. I understand if this is too much to ask, but I hope I can still be your best friend, too.”

Sokka looked down at his hands, clasped palm to palm, and watched his fingers clench together. There was a feeling in Sokka’s chest, not heavy but kinda big? It was pushing at his lungs, making breathing a labor. Despite himself, he felt his eyes wetten. 

And there was something else, too, scratching at the back of his head and nothing at all like the ache in his chest. 

He brought up his gaze to meet Suki’s. She was giving him a hopeful and hesitant smile. One that said, _I’m sorry_ but sweetly. 

“I want someone who’s head over heels for me, too.” Sokka reached up a palm to rub the wetness out of his eyes. “Getting dumped sucks, huh.” Suki’s mouth twisted a little at Sokka’s words. “It, uh, would be cool to have my best friend be there for me. Wanna go get icecream?”

Tension gave way to relief in the sudden slump of Suki’s posture, and her smile changed to say _thank you_. She nodded eagerly. 

“Let me grab my coat.”

\---

Between their almost entirely disparate class schedules, Zuko’s romantic occupation and his professional ones, and Sokka drowning his feelings in library study sessions with Haru, Sokka and Zuko really only saw each other about once a day. They had only two constants between them: art class and gymming. 

“Damn dude,” Sokka said, grasping and then playfully shaking Zuko’s bicep, “you’re really bulking up.” 

Zuko didn’t say anything in response, just frowned at Sokka and went back to the squat rack. And Sokka noticed this, but didn’t _take note_ because they were still in the middle of their workout and there were other things to think about, like these calf raises that needed to get done.

Sokka did take note, though, when they finished stretching out and made their way outside, and Zuko split off-- without a word-- towards the dorm, even though they were supposed to be meeting Haru in the dining hall. 

“Dude! Dinner with Haru!” he called towards Zuko’s retreating back. Zuko waved him off weakly without breaking his stride.

Haru shrugged off Zuko’s inattendance, because it wasn’t truly unusual behavior, and Suki joined them for dinner, which was a pleasant development. 

Things hadn’t been too awkward, so far, in the wake of their break up, but Suki was still a rare sight. Classes had been going well for her despite the rigor of her workload, she reported, as she dug into her meal. The three of them shot the shit for a bit, before Suki broke off whatever she was saying with a slight frown. 

“Where’s Zuko?” 

Sokka looked up from his second serving of coconut pudding. 

“Well,” he leaned back from his food and threw an arm behind Haru’s chair. “We were supposed to meet up with Haru after the gym, but he just decided to go back to the dorm. I dunno, he seemed kind of upset, but.” He shrugged. “That’s just Zuko, I guess.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be figuring him out or something? Not ascribing unusual behavior to some essential Zuko-ness?” Suki asked, and Sokka gave a half shrug. Most of his Zuko-Figuring lately had been though chit chat between lifting sets. 

“Did something happen at the gym that might have made him upset?” Haru asked.

Sokka really gave it a good minute of thought. 

“Well, he laid down on a bench that hadn’t been wiped down, and it had like a whole puddle of sweat on it. And this dude kept trying to steal his squat rack when he was stretching between sets. He did a lot of arms but he didn’t really stretch his shoulders out enough?

“He _is_ making a lot of gains, actually, I noticed. Really beefing up.” 

Suki frowned. 

“Did you say that to him?” she asked.

“That’s he’s making gains? Well, yeah.”

“I mean, specifically, that he’s ‘beefing up’.” 

“Not specifically. Specifically I said, uh, he was ‘bulking up’.” The frown remained. “What? It’s a compliment. That’s the point of gymming.”

“Well, maybe he didn’t take it as one. Remember last semester, we were talking about how much he’d changed from high school? Like how he got really, really skinny.” Sokka nodded. “Well you’ve noticed that Zuko skips a lot of meals, right? Like the night we talked about it, even, he left before you came back with the food.” Suki heaved a sigh. “I’m not a doctor, obviously, but something’s up. Regardless of whether or not he has an _eating disorder_ , per se, it’s pretty clear that he has a difficult time with food. And he probably has a complicated relationship with his body. Not just ‘cause he’s trans but,” Suki slumped a bit in her chair, losing a bit of steam, “abuse really fucks you up.”

Sokka took that all in, watching his hand aggressively stir his pudding. In his peripheral vision, Haru was nodding gently.

“People don’t always like talking about their bodies.” Suki said. “And I know you didn’t mean it any type of way, but you should probably apologize and not do that again.” 

Sokka cleared his throat.

“You’re right, I wasn’t thinking about that at all. But that makes a lot of sense.” He let go of his spoon in favor of tangling his fingers in his hair. 

“I feel like I’m always fucking up with him,” Sokka continued quietly. “Like I don’t know how to be the kind of friend he needs, if that makes sense.”

Haru snuck a bite of Sokka’s pudding.

“You don’t think he needs a friend that’s put time and effort into cultivating a solid relationship with him? Or a friend that cares about his wellbeing? That tries to do better when he fucks up? What kind of friend do think he actually needs, then?,” he asked with a raised eyebrow before shoveling down a few more scoops of pudding. Sokka snatched the bowl back.

“Ok yeah, I get it: all I can do is learn and do better next time. Get your own pudding, Haru.” 

Haru smirked. 

“Don’t forget the part about you already being a good friend. To Zuko, at least. _I’m_ feeling pretty hurt, though, that we spend all these hours studying together, but you won’t even donate your pudding to a worthy cause.” 

Zuko was being ridiculous. He was being childish and immature and annoyingly petty. 

Sokka didn’t _mean_ anything mean. It was a compliment! He was gaining muscle, he _liked_ that he was gaining muscle and he didn’t understand why his brain wouldn’t just _shut the fuck up_. Why couldn’t he envision getting bigger, gaining mass, without imagining his chest and his hips expanding uncontrollably. That’s not how it worked, he knew. He was on T and that would affect his body’s growth. And he wasn’t even gaining fat, really, which was a whole other can of worms. 

The petty, angry part of him that was annoyed at himself and annoyed at what Sokka had said was just as loud as the part saying, _what’s another skipped meal? Why not skip breakfast before work tomorrow too? Why not turn back around and go back to the gym and run on the treadmill until you collapse?_

Ok, maybe he wasn’t ok. Zuko scrubbed his hands over his face, and found that the motion brought tears to his eyes. What the _fuck_.

He sat down cross-legged on his bed and began walking himself through Uncle’s breathing exercises, and that’s how Sokka found him an hour after they had parted ways.

Zuko cracked an eye at the opening door, and turned his head to face Sokka as he entered the room abashedly. He was carrying two dining hall plates, sandwiched together. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I brought you dinner.”

The obsessive parts of Zuko’s brain grew quieter still. 

“Oh, thanks,” Zuko said when Sokka handed the food over to him. He lifted the top plate away to reveal the meal: chili-fried chicken, pickled radish, mirin-sweetened potato, and a mantou. A somewhat disparate combination but clearly carefully chosen. 

Zuko lifted his eyes from the plate to Sokka’s nervous face. Sokka really wore his heart on his sleeve. Zuko wondered if his own face was ever this easy to read. He nodded to the spot next to him.

“Do you wanna sit?” Sokka did without a word.

Zuko began to pick at the food, trying to get ahead of the lump forming in his throat. He occasionally switched his gaze between his plate and Sokka’s hand between them as he traced the stitching of Zuko’s quilt with his index finger.

“I overreacted,” Zuko said.

Sokka blinked at him with a frown on his face. Zuko’s chest clenched, a little.

“I don’t think you did.” Zuko scoffed, but Sokka continued. “I think you reacted the way you needed to to feel safe. Or, in better control of the situation. I’m not gonna pretend I know what you feel like, but I know your feelings are valid.

“And, before you try to do one of your weird, completely baseless apologies, _I’m_ sorry. I think I know what I said that upset you. We’ve never talked about--” Sokka made a slightly ridiculous thinking face, and then continued. “Talking about bodies. And I guess that isn’t a conversation that needs to happen right now. You don’t have to explain anything to me, I just wanna say that I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or upset. 

“And I guess I didn’t _actually_ ask if that was the problem, so maybe I’m being wildly presumptuous. But, anyway. If I say or do stuff that bothers you, just tell me and I’ll knock it off. Uh,” Sokka looked at Zuko and blushed, both in reaction to Zuko’s dumbfounded face but also the realization that he had been rambling. 

Zuko offered Sokka a piece of chicken, and he took it just to have something else occupy his mouth. 

“I,” Zuko huffed a breath, “have an eating, thing.” He grimaced. Sokka was giving him his undivided attention, but Zuko was looking dead ahead at the opposite wall. “Which you’ve noticed, clearly. Um. I was on testosterone when we knew each other, before, in high school. But, after I moved _back_ , I was off it. For a couple years.” He set his plate down on the bed in favor of clasping his hands together in his lap. Speaking authentically was _hard_. “My body changed a lot. And that was hard to deal with. On top of everything else, the dysphoria was just too much. But, I couldn’t have ‘female fat patterns’ if I didn’t have body fat, so.” Zuko huffed a humorless laugh. 

“I’m trying to get over it. One of my million doctors is a therapist, so you don’t have to worry. It just sneaks up on me sometimes.” He turned to give Sokka a smile that came out shaky, and Sokka looked back seriously. 

“You can tell me to fuck off, but I can worry? If you want me to? Or, like, care and help when I can, you know? I can support you with the things that help, I mean,” Sokka said earnestly. 

Zuko’s smile grew steady. 

“You already do. We go to the gym, we work out in a healthy way. You bring me food when my brain decides to hate me. You’ve helped a lot. So, you don’t get to apologize either.” He gave Sokka’s shoulder a light push. “Thank you, Sokka.” 

Sokka still looked a little apprehensive but he met Zuko’s smile, finally, with one of his own. 

And then it dropped off abruptly.

“So, you couldn’t continue on your hormones when you were living with your dad?” Zuko’s own smile died in response. He took another bite of chicken to buy time to think of what to say, and to spite the thought that was saying he had had enough to eat. 

“It was one of the things he wasn’t willing to compromise on.” He tried to shrug like it was casual, but Sokka was pretty clearly upset. 

“That’s really fucked up,” Sokka said, barely above a whisper. Zuko shrugged again.

“Yeah. It was wrong, what he did. But he can’t tell me shit, anymore, so I guess I won. It was really worth it, leaving. Even if I am technically homeless now.” 

And there was Sokka’s incredibly expressive face, doing what it did best.

“You’re _what_?”

Which is how Zuko finally told Sokka about how his winter break had gone.

\---

Sokka had been quiet in art class. They were back to live drawing, but with a tactile component: they weren’t allowed to look at the object they were drawing and were only able to observe it through touch. They had all chosen their subjects from a trunk, and they were rendering drawings based solely on how they felt in their hands. The work was exciting and endlessly frustrating, so it would make sense if maybe Sokka was put out after three hours of that. 

But, he didn’t lighten up at lunch, even though they were serving bannock, a rare and usually uplifting event for Sokka. When they passed the blooming cherry blossoms, Sokka didn’t even stop to snap another photo to add to his dozens of preexisting ones. 

They returned to the room together, and as Zuko watched him from the corner of his eye, he could only really come to one conclusion: Sokka was sulking. The question was, _why_? 

After one particularly loud sigh from Sokka, Zuko gave up the passive observation. He gave Sokka a considering look.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

Sokka scratched the back of his head and hesitated before answering. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He paused, and his face gave a particularly sad twist. “Just, today’s my birthday and, I dunno. I guess I’m in a weird place.”

Zuko’s concern melted into surprise. 

“Oh, well, happy birthday. Do you not celebrate?” 

Sokka sighed again. 

“No, I do, but with my family and a few of my friends, usually. And that’s obviously not happening this year.” He slumped lower in his chair.

The considering look was back on Zuko’s face. 

He was out of his depth, a little. It was usually Sokka detecting his sour moods and responding accordingly. Zuko’d already made it this far, though, it didn’t make sense to quit now. Even if it was clear that Sokka didn’t particularly like Jet, maybe the promise of a party would be tempting enough. And Zuko had already been trying to find a way to invite Sokka along. Maybe this was fortune manifesting. 

“I know,” he began slowly, “it’s not the same at all. But would you accept getting wasted at your roommate’s boyfriend’s squat as a suitable celebration?” 

Sokka blinked, and blinked again. 

Jet was on his back with Zuko tucked up under his chin, laying back to chest. Zuko’s hair threatened to tickle his neck, and their legs were in a perfect tangle. 

“Did Sokka have a good time, do you think?” Jet asked Zuko. His boyfriend, heavy with drink and sleepiness, nodded shallowly. 

“He did a keg stand. And he left with that girl with the white hair. I think she goes to our school? He looked a lot happier than before the party, at least.” 

Jet hummed.

“That’s good.” 

Zuko’s hair smelled like sweat and his sandalwood body soap. The guy didn’t use conditioner. It was a wonder his hair could be both so soft and so poorly cared for. 

“Sokka doesn’t like me, it feels like,” Jet said leadingly. Zuko shrugged. 

“You were dick-out the first time you two met. Maybe it wasn’t the best first impression.” His voice was especially raspy. Jet pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“He likes you.” Jet said, knowing that Zuko wouldn’t pick up the undercurrent of meaning, but still curious about what he had to say.

“Yeah, it’s cool. That we can be friends now,” Zuko said at just above a mumble.

“You weren’t friends in high school,” Jet replied, barely a question.

“No. I was hard to be around, then. I pretty jealous of him, actually. He played sports and had all these friends. I just had,” Zuko turned over, suddenly, and buried his face in the blankets over Jet’s chest, “my uncle. I just had my uncle.”

Jet hummed again, and brought a hand up to stroke through Zuko’s hair. 

They fell asleep like that, Zuko first, which was rare. 

Jet spent those last moments awake thinking. He was glad that Sokka had found someone to take home, if only to have him gone from the party. He didn’t dislike Sokka, so to speak. He actually thought the guy was pretty fun, and smart as hell. 

But the way he looked at Zuko, sometimes. 

Jet tightened his arms, and Zuko unconsciously pulled himself closer.

\---  
  


Sokka was beginning to think that the crackpot psychic he had visited with Katara and Aang in high school was right. Maybe he was bound to be unlucky in love, and completely by his own hand. 

He’d started a failure of a relationship with his now completely non-romantic best friend. And after bouncing back from that break up, Sokka had managed to go on three dates and hook up with Hanh's girlfriend, Yue. The results of that coming to light, outside of a taiyaki shop of all places, meant that Sokka had now been in fist fights with _two_ of his suitemates. 

He sat for his finals with an impressive black eye, his right middle finger in a splint, and a thoroughly bruised heart. 

Though that was certainly a dramatic series of events, the rest of the end of semester seemed to pass with less stress and fanfare than the last had, at least for Sokka. Elsewhere on campus, Suki was practically comatose after submitting no less than a cumulative 50 pages of research papers for final evaluations. Haru was one door down, talking on the phone with his dad and nearly done packing up his room. 

Sokka and Zuko were very, very far from being decluttered and packed. They had a couple days to get it done, though, so they were taking their time in the fresh heat of a new summer. It was annoying, that they had to pack all this up just to unpack it again in three months. Regardless, Sokka felt a thread of excitement tug the center of his stomach everytime he thought about living with Zuko for another year. And looking up at Zuko’s back as he quietly sorted through his own class materials, there was a sense of satisfaction in him. It was a year well-spent, with the academic and personal growth but also with this friendship that had taken so much effort. 

Sokka was seated on the floor, trying to maneuver the mess that had it made its home in the bottom of his backpack out without catching his splint on anything. He was also trying to figure out a polite way of asking Zuko if he was going to be accidently homeless during this break as well. 

“What’re you gonna do this summer?” Sokka asked, tact failing him once again.

“I don’t really have any plans,” Zuko said, far too casually for the statement, seated at his desk and sorting through his notes. 

“You could come stay with my family,” Sokka’s mouth said, completely without his permission.

Zuko turned fully around in his chair to blink at him, looking as surprised as Sokka felt. 

“I, meant like, activity wise,” Zuko said slowly. “I’m gonna be working. And, I’m already staying with Jet.” He dropped a stack of notes into his trashcan and said the next part quietly enough that Sokka almost didn’t catch it. 

“Also your family hates me.”

“No they don’t,” Sokka said so unconvincingly that he felt bad about not just letting it slide. Zuko grimaced. 

“Katara threw a full, metal water bottle at my face, once,” he retorted. 

Sokka rolled his eyes.

“Yeah after you said, uh.” Zuko’s face skipped the blush and went straight to the shame he always had when high school was brought up. 

“I’m sorry I called you all that." He met Sokka’s gaze with a serious expression. “That was fucked up of me.” 

Sokka shrugged it off and began digging in his backpack again.

If he was going to spend the next few minutes ineffectively trying to convince Zuko that his family didn’t hate him, then he could get some of this mindless work out of the way. And why did he have _so many_ snack wrappers in here? Ugh. 

“Dude, that was a million years ago, and you’re ignoring the point. Like, my dad doesn’t even know you, how can he hate you?” 

"Maybe because I’ve gotten into multiple fights with both his children, his children’s friends, and-- now that I think about it-- both his children’s once and current significant others?” Zuko deadpanned back. 

Sokka paused for a second. 

_Well, when you put it like that_ , he thought. 

“Bato doesn’t hate you?” Sokka asked, less sure of the statement’s validity than the gut instinct that Bato had once again forgotten who Zuko was.

“Your other dad doesn’t hate someone who’s punched his kids?” Zuko shot back.

Sokka snapped his fingers and pointed at Zuko.

“You’ve never punched Katara!” He declared triumphantly. “You’ve just _pushed_ her, I think.” 

Zuko scoffed.

“Great, I wasn’t as violent as I could’ve been.” Zuko curled his arm up on his desk and laid his head on it. With his head sideways like that, his bangs fell away from his eyes. Zuko blinked at Sokka, slowly, like a cat. 

"I’m a hero amongst men. I’m sure Bato would love me,” he rasped out. He gave a small yawn. 

Sokka gave up on the backpack and leaned back against his desk. The breeze that came through their window didn’t cool the room in the slightest. 

“You would really rather stay in an abandoned factory all summer?” Sokka tried to goad him. 

Zuko rolled his eyes. 

“It’s not a bad place to be. I _know_ you’re jealous of the water and electric systems, you admitted to it when you were drunk after the first party you went to there.” Sokka gave an scandalized gasp. “And it’s pretty cool in a ‘fuck the state’ kinda way. And a ‘not having to pay rent’ kinda way.” Zuko shrugged. “I couldn’t afford the plane ticket down to yours anyway, even if your entire family wouldn’t fight me on sight. 

“But thank you, I appreciate the offer. Seriously.” And there was the embarrassed flush, but with a tiny, pleased smile. 

Sokka smiled back, but it didn’t feel that real. He went back to digging out the contents of his backpack and Zuko returned to sorting out his papers. 

Sokka felt acutely disappointed, which was ridiculous because the offer had actually been entirely spontaneous. He was surprised at how quickly he’d become invested in the idea of bringing Zuko home with him. 

“Speaking of Katara, actually,” Sokka said, not willing to let the conversation die quite yet. “She said something _months_ ago that I’ve been wondering about, too.” 

Zuko looked back over his shoulder, his one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t really know how to ask this without sounding like a dick, but how _did_ you get into this school, like given your record with fighting?”

Zuko hummed and dropped a pile of post-its into his trash. 

“My father,” he cleared his throat, “he pulled a few strings. So my fighting record got sealed at our old school.” Zuko shrugged, a blush apparent from the back of his neck. "And I had a really good personal essay."

Sokka let out a bark of surprised laughter, which turned to a full belly laugh, and after a half second of hesitation, Zuko joined.

\---

Zuko walked Sokka to the trolley stop. It was Sokka’s good luck that he could grab a window seat and have his last view of campus be Zuko standing at the curb, in denim shorts and a shirt that was almost definitely Sokka’s, smiling and waving as the streetcar pulled away. 

His flight was late. They sat on the tarmac for an hour as the attendants passed out the fancy snack packs complimentarily, to console upset passengers. 

Sokka didn’t notice. He barely twitched when the food was set onto his tray table. More pressingly, he watched the last of the light die in the sky and thought of Zuko, and the way the golden hour sun had lit every part of him so stunningly.


	4. Summer Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: implied/referenced emotionally abusive household, brief mention of drug overdose

The pickup truck graduated from rust bucket to fully functional automobile. Or, mostly functional automobile with crank windows and a dead a/c system. Far more importantly, it was capable of toting three people legally, and at least five people if there wasn’t opposition to riding in the truck bed. Wind was the original air conditioner, anyway, so the a/c wasn’t a big deal, even with this many people aboard. And, Sokka knew where to drive to avoid the traffic cops. 

Katara had also graduated, from annoying highschooler to annoying EMT in training. The whole gang was headed to the beach to celebrate, including Suki, who was a guest of the household for the month. 

Growing up, it had been a pain to make the trek from their house to the city for school, because though their school had been nearly in the suburbs, their house was on the edge of their coastal town. Now, though, Sokka could hardly mind the proximity to the beach. 

He can’t say he minded that much as a kid either, because it also wasn’t a very long walk. Many weekends and summer days found him there, fishing or playing or staring out at the water, trying to catch a glimpse of his dad’s fishing boat making its way to the docks.

The ride was even shorter than the walk though, with the way Toph was complaining, you’d think he was driving across the country. Her spot in the middle bench seat gave her special Yelling-At-Sokka access. His hearing was saved by the fact that the top of her head barely reached Sokka’s shoulder. Aang’s recent growth spurts had granted him similar fortune in his position on Toph’s other side. Katara and Suki sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the truck bed, their backs to the cab of the truck. They were tasked with anchoring the blankets, towels, and coolers to the truck bed. Whatever those two were talking about was lost to the air blowing over them. 

Sokka drove with his hands at 10 and 2. He was normally a good driver, though maybe a little bit of a fast one. Today he was meticulous, gentle starts and stops and corners taken at a snail’s pace. Toph was grumpy to find that her complaining was completely ineffective against his careful driving. Sokka could normally be annoyed into moving faster, but not with such precious cargo.

“Maybe I’ll take another lap around the parking lot,” Sokka teased, only just restraining himself from ruffling Toph’s hair. Her hands were completely unoccupied, though, and she responded with a vicious punch to Sokka’s arm. He involuntarily made a sound that was half laugh, half groan as he pulled into a parking spot. 

“I’m disappointed that Zuko didn’t come along.” Aang said out of the blue while trying to lay out a blanket. He kept having to pick it up and shake off sand, as Toph was digging a hole to stand the umbrella in with enthusiasm and no care for where the discarded sand was ending up. 

“No offense, Suki, I’m obviously glad you came to visit. But we’re already friends. And the more the merrier, you know?” 

Suki gave a careless shrug from her position waiting with the umbrella. She’d been in town for a week already, and the freshness of her visit had long shifted into the familiar, warm energy of their group’s dynamic. 

“None taken, I think you’re right. I actually kinda miss Zuko.” She frowned at Sokka playfully. “Why _didn’t_ you bring him back?” 

Sokka returned a frown that was almost genuine. He himself was still a bit bummed about it, confusingly. 

“I never said I’d be bringing him back with me, Aang. As Suki knows, and as I’m pretty sure I already explained to you, he already had plans.”

“I don’t get why you’re so obsessed with seeing that jerk again, anyway.” Katara said as she set down a cooler at the edge of Aang’s blanket. 

Sokka’s frown really did turn genuine. He opened his mouth to reply, but Katara continued. 

“Yeah, he apologized about the stuff he did, but it doesn’t make him a different person than the one that did all of that. I don’t get how you can defend him.” She huffed in annoyance and shook her head. “I’m just glad you won’t be living with him next year.” Sokka cringed before he could stop himself. “Wha-- _Sokka_!”

“It’s easier to get a two-bedroom than a one bedroom campus apartment, and I can’t afford off-campus housing. Besides, as I’ve said a hundred times, we’re _friends_ , he’s a good guy, and I like being his roommate. He’s not gonna turn evil and like, knife me in my sleep. So, you’re mad for literally no reason.”

“He was so mean, for no reason! He’s literally kicked you in the head! He pushed us all around--”

“He never pushed me around,” Toph cut in, now sprawled across most of the blanket.

“Well, he wasn’t nice to you either. He’s still the same jerk that he was and I don’t get why you’re pretending he’s not.” 

Sokka sighed wearily. He began pulling juice boxes out of the cooler and passing them around to his friends. 

“Yes, he’s still the person that did those things, but he’s also not in highschool anymore. Neither am I, and neither are _you_. Which is what we’re gathered here to celebrate, just so you remember. 

“He’s growing into a different person, he means different things to me now.” Sokka shrugged. “And I guess he hasn’t had the chance to mean anything else to you yet. And maybe he never will. But, going back and forth on this is exhausting. So, can we just agree to disagree? And if you ever see him in person, you can decide then if you still hate him?” He poked the straw into his own juicebox and raised an eyebrow at Katara. She gazed back steadily, less mad than she looked before, but more… something. Looking around the circle, Sokka realized that everyone had a different sort of funny look on their face. 

“What?” 

Suki smirked. 

“Nothing. Just, well said.” Suki said and raised her juicebox. “To not being in highschool!” She slung an arm around Katara’s shoulder. “And congratulations, Katara, on graduating and beginning your EMT training!” 

Cheers went up around the circle of friends, juiceboxes were sipped with ceremony, snacks were distributed, and the beach was subsequently filled with splashing, suntanning, and sand sculpturing.

\---

“Shift it just a hand’s width to the right.”

“Your hand,” Sokka asked Bato, “or mine? ‘Cause that’s a pretty big difference.” Bato sighed deeply and leveled Sokka with a hard look. “And my right or your right? Or stage right? Maybe cardinal direction would be better.”

Hakoda walked up and clapped a hand onto Bato’s shoulder, chuckling, which did not improve his husband’s mood. 

“Honey, let me take over before you lose it,” he said, positioning himself at end of the wood beam that Bato had been commanding this part of the build from. Sokka, crouched at the other end of the prone beam, smiled beatifically up at Bato until he gave up the glare in favor of getting a drink of water. Then Sokka turned his attention to his father. 

“It’s not nice to bully Bato,” Hakoda said with some reproach. Sokka shrugged without remorse. 

“He needed water and he hates taking breaks. I did him a favor. Can you toss me the hammer?” he replied. 

Hakoda nodded and fully prepared to underhand the hammer when Suki chimed in.

“How about,” she nimbly plucked the hammer out of Hakoda’s hand, “I just hand it over to you.” She placed it into Sokka’s waiting palm.

“Thanks, Sukes,” he chirped, and began hammering the beam to the frame. 

They were finally replacing the shed that had been sagging into the ground next to the driveway for years. Suki was flitting between helping Gran Gran put tomato plants in the ground, refreshing the water pitcher, and breaking down the old shed’s dilapidated frame with an axe. 

The sun was high and hot, evaporating sweat as quick as it evoked it. They’d all been working for a few hours at this point, though at an easy pace. It was good quality time, and too bad Katara was occupied with her EMT training. Sokka found himself hoping they’d all find the time to do this again before the summer was out.

He glanced up to see his father watching Suki reduce a 2x4 to splinters while chatting with Bato. Hakoda turned to Sokka with an impressed look on his face. 

“That’s some girl,” he said. Sokka blinked at his tone and coughed awkwardly. He’d forgotten to tell Hakoda, it seemed. 

“Oh, no. We uh, broke up mid semester.” Hakoda frowned, clearly concerned.

“What happened?” 

“Nothing bad happened,” Sokka said, returning to hammering for a few beats. “It just made more sense for us to be friends. And that’s working so, nothing’s really lost.”

Hakoda hummed as he studied Sokka’s face closely. He nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw.

“That’s a mature way of looking at it,” Hakoda said with a small, proud smile.

“I’m a mature guy,” Sokka said with a smirk and a shrug. 

The beam was secured, so they moved onto the next. Hakoda waited until that beam was also hammered to the frame to speak up again.

“You got your eye on anybody else?”

Sokka hesitated. Yue had been someone he intended to romance. Maybe once Hanh could see him without instigating a fight, Sokka and Yue could be friends. Now though, he was mostly trying to forget how intensely he’d felt for her. 

The only other person who occupied that much mental real estate was Zuko, but his dad wasn't talking about friendship right now.

Sokka shook his head. 

“Nah, I’m busy enough with my classes.”

Hakoda quirked an eyebrow.

“I guess that’s what I should be encouraging.” He adopted a stern tone. “Focus on your classes, not girls. There’ll be plenty of time for dating once you’re married.”

Sokka snorted, and Hakoda joined him in laughing.

“Are you two talking or building?” Bato called across the yard, taking his water break seriously-- he was sitting with his feet propped up and his beverage upgraded with a slice of lemon.

\---

Summer was a good time for the Freedom Fighters, generally. 

The warehouse windows did little against rain and snow, but the whole thing actually vented nicely when it came to facing the heat. They would take hours-long strolls, stopping in convenience stores, passing produce sellers set up in wooden stalls and the backs of pickup trucks, meandering through outdoor markets. They left with empty pockets and returned with their bags weighed down with lifted goods. 

Smellerbee would have pegged Zuko as the kind of former rich kid, do-gooder who would be too nervous about getting caught to steal. But he was a natural, it turned out. Zuko had impressively sticky fingers and a highly effective don’t-bother-me scowl on draw. He was a master of grabbing and dashing, more than capable of scaling walls and fences. 

Zuko even had an in at a bakery. Despite his awkward and sometimes rudely abrupt demeanor, it didn’t involve stealing. The smiling girl behind the counter would give him a bag of bread that would be too stale to sell the next day, in exchange for a one-sided flirtation that he endured with a bright red blush.

One evening in particular, the Freedom Fighters loudly made their way back home with their haul, passing a couple loaves between each other, all of them red in the glow of the almost-set sun. 

It would have been a perfect day, if Jet and Zuko would just _stop fighting_. The point of this particular argument was long lost, but it was definitely something pointless to get twisted up about. Jet was still goading Zuko, determined to talk it to death. Zuko was alternately avoidant and explosive and clearly very done. The reprieve from this argument only came when they made it back to the warehouse and Zuko peeled off to go be alone in Jet’s room. 

The rest of the crew gave a sigh of relief and set to putting away the food and making their own dinners. 

In the span of an hour most of them went their own ways until it was just Smellerbee, Longshot, and Jet. 

“What’re you doing Jet?” Smellerbee asked, and he gave the smirk he wore when he felt like being a jerk.

“What d’you mean what am I doing?” 

Smellerbee scowled back.

It was the little things, Smellerbee knew, that killed. Like with her mom, there was a specific cigarette that gave her cancer. Yeah, it was every single one she’d ever smoked but there was _one_ that sealed the deal. And there was some amount of time, some number of coughs, that if she’d gone to the doctor before they could’ve saved her. But did that really matter, when she had gone so far past any point of return that barely a month after the diagnosis, she’d left her daughter all alone in the world? Not really, no.

The first person to take care of Smellerbee after her mom got sick, after she no longer had to take care of her dying mother, was Jet. Smellerbee was actually a little older than Jet, by two months. Smellerbee thought it showed, sometimes, in how Jet would get caught up on an idea and she would have to dig her heels in to remind him to slow down and _think_ about what he was doing. 

Smellerbee loved Jet dearly, she knew he was a good guy. She _knew_ Jet so she knew, even if _he_ didnt know, that he was sabotaging this relationship. 

It was his stupid need to be right and be gratified in his rightness, fueled by his laundry list of intimacy and abandonment issues. Smellerbee couldn’t judge Jet for it, but that didn’t mean she could let it slide either. 

She knew Jet could see the way Zuko would fight along with him before getting overwhelmed and shutting down, because that’s when he would dig in deeper, getting up in Zuko’s carefully blank face, trying to pull any reaction out of him. Or how Zuko would withdraw for a day or so after a fight, because Jet would go to him at whatever corner or rooftop he’d secluded himself in and bring him back to the group.

She wanted to yell at Jet until he realized he was fucking up, badly. Smellerbee’d been wary of Zuko, at first, but he really was just a kid like them. He was _good_ for Jet and Jet was pushing him away as hard as he could with his arms wrapped around him.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” Smellerbee said with certainty. Jet’s face soured.

“I’m not doing _anything_ but talking with my boyfriend. I don’t see how that’s an issue.” He waited to see if she had a rebuttal, and scoffed and walked away when she didn’t.

Longshot gazed at her steadily across the room. His look was heavy and considering. 

Smellerbee sighed. He was far better at this than she was, but he was staying out of it. 

“I don’t get why he’s like this.” Longshot blinked slowly. “Ok, you’re right. I know _exactly_ why Jet’s like this. I’m just frustrated that he refuses to move _beyond_ this. He’s gonna lose Zuko and it’s gonna be his own fault.” Longshot got up and came to sit next to Smellerbee on the saggy couch, not even grimacing at the warm false-suede. He pressed his arm against hers. “You’re right. I know you’re right. If he won’t listen, then all we can do is be there.” And Longshot sighed, too, because he was far from immune to exhaustion. 

\---

The tailgate of Sokka’s truck was completely structurally sound-- he’d checked himself, cleaned and adjusted the hinges, replaced the springs--, but it creaked like it was about to fall apart at any movement. It gave a particularly dire groan when he and Suki sat down with popsicles to watch the boats pull into the harbor. 

“I know it’s fine,” Suki said, “but I actually feel _guilty_ about sitting on this thing when it makes sounds like that.”

Sokka patted the tailgate appreciatively.

“It’s doing its best,” he replied. They let quiet settle as they unwrapped their popsicles. Sokka’s passion fruit popsicle was as vibrant as the setting sun beneath the white wrapper. 

“Are you gonna be ok?” Sokka asked, and watched Suki's reaction as she took a bite of her bright green, melon popsicle and cringed at the cold. 

“It’s just two weeks, then I'm headed to Ba Sing Se,” Suki replied through her chewing.

“Suki,” he said more firmly. She met his eyes. “Seriously, are you going to be ok at home?”

She sighed. 

“Mom works most of the time, and my other mom… It'll be nice the first couple days and then she'll pick a fight and it’ll be shitty for the rest of it. But yeah, I’ll be ok. I _want_ to see them, I just don’t want to put up with the bullshit. But, I have to, so that’s just how it is.” Another popsicle bite, another cringe. 

Sokka felt the syrup begin to run onto his hand and lapped up the melt. 

“If it gets bad, you can come back here,” he said when most of the mess was in his mouth.

“I know, which is why I’m going in the first place.” A bitter smile twisted Suki’s mouth. “Thanks, again, for inviting me.”

She took the last bite of her popsicle, grasping it between her teeth and carefully pulling it off the wooden stick. 

“Thanks for coming,” Sokka said. “It was nice to have you around. The gang really missed you. And Bato would’ve made me build the drying shed myself if you weren’t there.” 

Suki hummed, too distracted to make a sarcastic response of her own, and frowned at something on the red horizon. Sokka finished his own popsicle and cast his eyes around for a napkin before settling on wiping his hand onto the leg of his shorts.

“Oh!” Suki said suddenly, “I can’t believe I keep forgetting to bring this up. You remember Yue?”

Sokka grimaced. That situation still stung, a bit.

“I remember Hahn and I breaking our fingers on each other’s faces, yes.” 

Suki smiled sympathetically.

“Well, Yue’s going to be part of the same program as me, at Ba Sing Se University. A different major, but we’re gonna be taking classes together. Probably staying in the same dorm block, too.”

Sokka nodded sedately.

“Tell her I say ‘hi’, I guess,” he said, eyes catching on the shape of a boat growing larger. He resisted the urge to sigh.

“You tell Zuko I say ‘hi’,” Suki said, and there was something more in her voice. Sokka pulled his gaze from the ship in the distance to her smirking face. He narrowed his eyes. 

“Text him yourself and say ‘hi’.”

“I think,” Suki bundled napkins, her popsicle stick, and the wrapper in her hands, “that it’ll have more of an impact if you say it directly.”

Sokka squinted harder, but her smile betrayed no misgivings. 

The ship entering the harbor was impressive in its speed. It would only be a few minutes, now, Sokka could tell. He let out the mounting sigh. 

“We should get up to the dock.”

Their goodbye was without much fanfare. Mostly, it was a very long hug and promises to email.

“I’ll miss you,” Sokka said, and Suki nodded fervently into his shoulder.

It saddened Sokka that they would once again be friends only through digital means. But, he vowed to be more active in their correspondence this time around. Suki’s semester abroad wouldn’t stretch on too long, he figured, if they really kept up with each other. 

“I mean it, by the way,” Suki said as they pulled apart. “Tell Zuko I say ‘hi’. Tell him other stuff, too.”

“What other stuff?” Sokka asked slowly, thrown off guard. Suki threw the strap of her duffel over her shoulder.

“You’ll figure it out. But when you do,” she finished with a hard jab of the finger in Sokka’s direction.

This clarified nothing, for him. Mostly, it left him gaping after Suki as she made her way up the gangplank. Sokka’s confusion didn’t stop him from waving after her, nor from getting misty-eyed at the ship's departure.

He stood there until the light left the sky and the wind blowing off the water was too cool against his bare legs. Until the stars came in twinkling above. 

He thought about Zuko as he drove home, how long his hair would be by the end of the summer, why he was the worst texter in the world, what he would tell Zuko when he saw him. _Hello, I missed you, I wish you could’ve come to visit? Oh, and Suki says hi._

Katara was laid out on the couch when he got home, her awakeness only indicated by the furrow between her brows. Sokka didn’t bother softening the closing of the front door and she cracked an eye open to glare at him.

“It’s late, don’t let the door slam,” she grumbled. 

Sokka went and threw himself at the end of the couch at her feet. They’d been close in height growing up, but in recent years he’d far outpaced her. Katara was short like Gran Gran was, like their mom had been. He grabbed one of her feet by the ankle and shook it until she kicked at him.

“You’re awake anyway,” he replied belatedly. Katara pulled her knees towards her chest and opened both eyes fully to roll them at Sokka.

“Bato’s asleep, though. Gran Gran, too. It’s called being courteous.” Sokka gave Katara’s face a long look. She blinked back tiredly.

“What?” she asked when Sokka didn’t say anything.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“It was good. I had my first ER clinical today. Eight hours of watching nurses snip at each other, and a bunch of patients with heat stroke. A couple overdoses. Pretty tame, apparently. They say the night shift is worse,” Katara recited, her eyes fixed on the handwoven rug.

“That still sounds stressful, though.” 

Katara shrugged in her little bundle. She was still wearing her scrubs. 

“Did you have dinner?” Sokka asked with a poke to Katara’s knee.

“I had a sandwich from the cafeteria,” she said through a yawn.

“That’s not dinner, that’s a snack, and don’t think I didn’t notice you leaving out _when_ you had that sandwich.” Sokka stood. “Get up, let’s go.”

Katara frowned.

“We’re hitting the drive thru, and then we’re hitting the icecream stand. C’mon kiddo,” he said, and stubbornly kept his bright attitude when the frown remained on her face. 

“You don’t need ice cream, you have popsicle all over your clothes,” Katara pointed out. 

Sokka looked down and, _huh_ , the orange made a strong contrast with his baby blue tank top. Complementary colors, he noted. Professor Piandao would be proud. 

“Maybe _I_ don’t need ice cream, but you need it enough for both of us. So, let's go."

"How’s training been going?"

Katara frowned at Sokka as she took a sip of her foxberry soda. The breeze coming off the bay made its lazy way through the open windows of the truck cab, and tousled the hairs coming loose from Katara’s braid.

“You already asked that,” she said. 

“No, that was me asking how your day was. Now I’m asking about your EMT training. What do you think? Do you like it?” Sokka replied, wiping the greasy remnants of his fish sandwich onto a handful of napkins. 

Katara picked at her bag of fried clams and heaved a sigh. 

“It’s fine.” 

Sokka raised an eyebrow. Katara sighed again and rolled her eyes skyward. 

“I like it, I do. It’s just hard. Like really hard." She paused to take a loud, deep breath. "I’m the youngest person in the class and I feel so out of my depth. Everyone else used to be nurses or they’re firefighters. I have _no_ experience, I can’t measure up, I’m just _me_!” Her final words rang out over the empty parking lot.

Sokka took a sip out of his own soda and smacked his lips loudly.

“Just you is pretty outstanding,” he said. 

“Sokka--”

“You aced every class in highschool, on top of a part time job, and all that stuff with dad and with Bato. And straight out of school you’re taking 30 hours of classes a week. Yeah it's gonna be hard, it's not supposed to be easy. And honestly, you’re probably already more than burnt out. But you’re good at hard things, and you’re gonna walk out of this the most competent, compassionate EMT in this town. In the city, even. The whole island. One day, probably the world. Don’t doubt yourself for a second.” 

Katara sniffed, and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Thanks, Sokka.”

He nodded sagely, and resisted the urge to pinch her nose, knowing that she didn’t pull her kidney punches.

“You’re welcome. Now eat your clams or I’ll be forced to intervene.”

She did, and they chatted about something mindless before winding back around to Katara’s professional trajectory.

“I was thinking, maybe I should get a firefighting certification after this.” 

Sokka hummed and stuffed his garbage into Katara’s now empty bag.

“What would that take?” 

“A program at the community college, and a lot of volunteer hours. But if I’m working as an EMT at the same time, I could get hired by a firehouse almost as soon as I finish the program.”

Sokka started the truck and pulled a wide left turn to reach the mouth of the parking lot. 

“I think it would fit you. You really liked water growing up,” he said.

Katara gave Sokka a sidelong glance. 

“We live next to a beach, everyone around here likes water,” she deadpanned while settling tiredly into her seat.

“Yeah, but you _really_ liked water. You were the spiritual opposite of a pyromaniac. You used to bring all of your toys into the bathtub, even the stuffed animals. Mom had to stop you from bringing in books.” 

Katara thumped her head onto the headrest and let her eyes fall shut. A smile grew on her face.

“I remember that, actually. I wanted to bring in that storybook, the one about the fish who fell in love with the moon? And Mom said we would compromise and she would read it to me.” The smile faded from Katara’s face, and the furrow between her brow made a reappearance.

"Maybe," Sokka began cautiously, "you could take a break before the firefighter training. Give yourself some breathing room."

Katara gave a hum of acknowledgement but said nothing more. 

The road rumbled under the truck tires. Familiar landmarks whipped through the headlight beams. By the time Sokka pulled into the driveway, Katara was asleep against the passenger window. 

Sokka sat at the wheel for a bit with the engine off and watched her breathe.

It was a cloudy night, so Sokka had to carefully pick his way through the shadows as he carried his baby sister inside. He deposited Katara on her bed, and the only hint of her sleep being distrubed was a slight grumble and the ghost of a smile when Sokka whispered “good night”. 

\---

“Do you need a hand up? ‘Cause I can come back down and give you a boost,” Jet said, and even if Zuko couldn’t see his face from this angle, he could hear the annoying smirk that he was surely wearing.

Zuko jumped vertically and caught the ledge, and with a jerk of his body hauled himself onto the roof. Jet was waiting, the smirk Zuko had suspected firmly on his face. Zuko scowled back.

“You could’ve just annoyed me back at the hideout, you didn’t have to bring me roof jumping to do it.”

“You love roof jumping, Sunshine, and I don’t know why you’re pretending you don’t.” Jet looked closer at Zuko’s face and the smirk wavered a little. “But if you’re really not in the mood for this we can go back.” Jet shrugged. “I just thought it could be nice.” 

Zuko let the frown fall from his face. 

“What could be nice?”

“A surprise, for the birthday you for some reason don’t want to celebrate,” Jet said. 

Zuko looked away and let his gaze skim over the city lights in the near distance. It was much darker in the abandoned industrial district. The people remaining here didn’t make much light. 

“My birthday hasn’t really been a happy event for me, in the past,” he muttered. Jet heard, despite Suko’s low tone. 

“Would it make it better if I told you this wasn’t specifically _for you_? That we just happened to have these lying around and that this is actually just a completely coincidental, non-birthday event that you can enjoy?” Jet asked.

“Have what laying around?” Zuko asked with a furrow between his eyes. 

“Turn off your hearing aid, babe,” Jet said. He brought a hand to his mouth. 

Zuko complied, but was still able to hear the sharp trill of Jet’s bird call.

A couple seconds passed. 

“Wow, bird calls at night. I love it,” Zuko said in a flat voice. 

And then he jumped nearly out of his skin-- nearly _fell off the roof_ \-- when the first firework exploded. Zuko’d missed its ascent, given its position to his left, but Jet’s reflexes were enough to save him from a tumble to the ground.

Jet tugged Zuko closer by his bicep and pulled his back to his chest, tucked Zuko’s head under his chin, and wrapped his arms around Zuko’s front. Zuko rested his hands onto Jet’s crossed forearms and leaned back into the hug. 

“Is this safe?” he called over the noise.

“Since when do you care about safe?” Jet spoke into Zuko’s right ear. “I’ve literally watched you pickpocket a cop.” A couple seconds passed as a pale blue firework stretched its burning across the sky. “But, yes, I promise we checked the area for combustibles and people. It’s just us, and nothing that’s gonna catch fire and explode.” Zuko relaxed in Jet’s arms.

“The Duke stole them thinking they were firecrackers. They’re not that useful in a riot, too volatile. For something like this, though... ” Jet's trailing silence was eaten by a volley of explosions. 

It lasted a little under ten minutes, which made it an impressive amount of fireworks for the Duke to have stolen on his own. The Freedom Fighters in attendance were already gone by the time the cops pulled up to investigate the launch site. 

Following their rushed departure from the vantage point, Jet and Zuko strolled as casually as they could manage back to the hideout, scraped palms holding each other gently.

\---

Katara cried when Sokka had to leave. 

They were all stood out front of the house, in a sort of semi circle around the truck, each person taking a turn saying goodbye to Sokka. 

Vocally, he didn’t see what the point in making such a fuss was. Privately, he already missed them all.

Aang didn’t cry, and he rubbed Katara’s back comfortingly after he finished hugging the breath out of Sokka. 

Toph, like the last two times Sokka had left for school, didn’t have an ounce of melancholy in her goodbye. Though, there clearly was _something_ extra in her goodbye. She wasn’t wearing that shit-eating grin that would indicate she was about to rib Sokka mercilessly. Instead, Toph smiled like she knew a secret, and Sokka was honestly afraid to ask.

“You know, I talked it over with Suki, and I approve,” Toph said, standing with her hands on her hips.

“Of… what? Exactly?” Sokka asked warily. 

“Zuko,” she flapped a hand around him. “Whatever y’all have got going on, I approve. I say go for it, full steam ahead.”

“Ok? Well, I’m glad somebody in this family approves of our friendship.”

Toph gave an uncharacteristic pause.

“Uh huh,” she said slowly. “Friendship. Just, guys. Doing dude things. If that’s what you’re into.”

Sokka resisted the urge to squint, knowing neither the motion nor the vibes would bring anything useful. 

“Ok. Thank you, I guess, would be the polite thing to say. So, thanks?”

Toph cracked her typical shit-eating grin.

“Look at you, ready to meet the upper echelon with those manners.” Toph reached out and placed the gentlest of her punches onto Sokka’s bicep. “Drive safe, dumbass.”

Sokka did squint, then, but he quickly gave that up in favor of bending down and pulling Toph into a hug of her own. 

After he released Toph, his dads swept in to say their tearful (mostly on Hakoda’s part) goodbyes. Gran Gran broke into the middle of Hakoda’s mini-speech to give Sokka a tower of leftovers packed in foil and tupperware and a kiss on the cheek. And with that, finally, the group found themselves out of excuses to stall Sokka’s departure. 

Which meant it only took twenty more minutes for Sokka to get out onto the road. 

He would be making the ten hour drive mostly overnight. His dads made him promise no less than a dozen times that he would get a hotel for the night if he found himself even slightly sleepy. More likely, Sokka would pull off to the parking lot of a scenic lookout point and catch a couple hours of sleep, if it meant saving money and shaving time off the trip. 

Sokka had told Zuko he would be at the apartment by mid-morning and, well, it wouldn’t do to make him wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than half of the way through! From now on we'll be on genuine Zukka trajectory, so stay tuned
> 
> And thank you again to everyone writing comments, I'm fully vaccinated, let's make out

**Author's Note:**

> Also, just wanna say, despite the nebulously western themes and aspects (which like, are not at all removable from the source material so lmao), there are absolutely no white people in this au or this au's universe


End file.
